Lord Garson’s Bride

by Anna Campbell

  “What was that?” he asked, although he’d heard her the first time.

  Her eyes flashed, and he caught a fugitive glimpse of the passionate woman who had turned his nights to fire. And offered him the deceitful promise of a life he could love, even if he couldn’t love her.

  “I said I don’t hate it.” The words emerged sharp as broken glass. She looked like a princess disdaining the advances of an overweening courtier. He recognized with a shock that her pride far outweighed his. Perhaps there was some pique involved in her desertion after all.

  “Good.” He took off his hat and gloves and tossed them on a chest of drawers. “You know what to do.”

  Hesitantly she approached the chair and after sending him a backward glance, as if asking whether he wanted to position her, she bent over.

  Lust fueled his anger. His breath emerged in tattered gasps. The sight of his wife waiting for him to service her had his cock standing up straight as a ship’s mast.

  He stepped behind her and tossed the frothy light blue skirts up to reveal her bare arse. Her whimper betrayed excitement and fear.

  His heart pounded like a bass drum as he stared down at that luscious rump. White, smooth, perfectly curved. Her legs were splayed, ready for him to plunge inside and spend himself in shame and yearning and irresistible need. He watched her tense to accept him, and she dipped her head, so the angle of her bum became even more brazen.

  Even as his hands went to the fastenings of his breeches, he knew this wasn’t what he wanted.

  If he went ahead and did this now—and again and again until they made a child—he’d corrupt something precious and irreplaceable. And each time, he’d chip a little bit more off Jane’s soul. What he was about to do debased the memory of the transcendent intimacies they’d shared during their first few weeks, however hellishly askew things had gone since.

  God help him, he couldn’t do it.

  Gritting his teeth against the agonizing weight in his balls, he threw Jane’s skirts down to cover her. He stepped back on shaking legs. “Stand up,” he said, his voice as flat as the Fens.

  For a moment, she didn’t move, and he wondered whether he would in fact be able to resist taking her. She pushed herself up and turned, looking bewildered.

  Her gaze focused on his face. He suspected he looked like thunder. Then she glanced toward the bed. “Shall I lie down?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is there some other—”

  With a violent gesture, he retreated a further step out of temptation’s reach. “No. No other way. Not again.”

  Misery and confusion darkened her eyes to pewter. “I don’t understand.”

  He hardly understood either. But he knew to the depths of his being that what they did in this room would only lead to utter devastation. “I want a wife. I want a marriage. I want a life with you. I don’t want these crumbs from your table, Jane. This miserly spending of what should be gold, while we go ahead and turn everything between us into base metal. I want the whole loaf or nothing.”

  She spread her hands. Her expression said she thought he was losing his mind. “But what about a child?”

  He bit back a string of profanities. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn anymore. The bloody estate can crumble into the sea, as far I’m concerned. Someone will inherit it. I’ll be dead so I won’t care.”

  “You married me to have an heir.”

  “And you married me to gain a home,” he said with a weariness that penetrated to his bones. “If you can change your mind about what you want, why can’t I?”

  “So you won’t…”

  “No, I won’t. This is my last visit to the Beeches, Jane.” He folded his arms and regarded her with burning eyes. “Come home, or go your own way. It’s all or nothing.”

  She still looked completely befuddled. “But you don’t love me.”

  “I honor you. I want you. I believe we can create something worthwhile between us. You have to decide if that’s enough.” He saw her flinch, but couldn’t dam the torrent of words that had been building up since the day she left him. “If not, I’ll make arrangements for a generous allowance. I won’t have you relying on Anthony bloody Townsend’s bounty for the food you eat.” The way she’d turned to the Townsends with her troubles continued to rankle. “You’re free to decide your future. But hear this—if you return to me, it’s forever. No compromises, no keeping yourself from me, no half measures. You decide to be my wife, and you never waver.”

  She linked shaking hands at her waist. “You’re asking a lot.”

  “I’m asking everything,” he said in a flinty voice. He prowled over to collect his hat and gloves. “I await word on your decision.”

  He stalked away without a backward glance, even as a small voice in the corner of his mind whispered that he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  *

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  *

  On his long ride back to London, Garson hardly registered a single mile or the inns where he stopped to change horses. All he saw was Jane’s pale, shocked features as he delivered his ultimatum. An ultimatum that could result in never seeing her again.

  Brilliant move, old man.

  After a day and a half in the saddle, it was well after midnight when he stamped back into the house at Half Moon Street. Despite his aching exhaustion, he spent the rest of the night sitting in his library and gazing into the dark abyss of his future. He chose the brandy decanter for company, but barely touched the one glass he poured. As eyes scratchy with tiredness watched the dawn come up over London, he asked himself two questions.

  How had everything gone so bloody wrong?

  And was there any way to fix this damned mess?

  As the day brightened into morning, he found no answers, but he finally admitted something that had been staring him in the face for weeks. He needed to swallow the few remnants of his pride and ask for help.

  Garson staggered to his feet, painfully stiff after the arduous ride and hours in a chair. Still wearing shirt and breeches, he tumbled into bed and crashed into a dreamless sleep.

  *

  That afternoon, Garson knocked at Silas’s shiny black door in Grosvenor Square. Silas had tried to offer advice before, but Garson had been too stubborn to listen. He was ready to listen now, if his friend was willing to help him after his recent behavior had soured relations with the Nashes and their circle.

  Given the way Garson’s last visit to the Beeches had gone, optimism seemed like folly. But even if Silas offered a fresh perspective on the quandary, it would help. He wasn’t expecting much more. Silas would need to be a miracle worker to fix the gargantuan problems in this marriage.

  The butler opened the door. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Good afternoon, Hunter. I’d like to see Lord Stone.”

  “His lordship has taken her ladyship and the children to the park.”

  Garson was so keyed up that this information sent his heart plummeting to his toes. “Oh.”

  Hunter smiled. “But I suspect they won’t be long, as it’s about to rain.”

  Was it? Garson had paid attention to nothing beyond his purpose. Now he glanced up at the sky and saw that the clear sunrise had deteriorated into heavy black clouds.

  Hunter went on. “Would you like to wait?”

  It seemed he must rein in his impatience. “Yes, please.”

  Hunter showed him into the drawing room. As the storm blew in, the light worsened. Garson only realized he wasn’t alone when a tall, slender woman rose from a writing desk in the corner.

  Hunter was surprised, too. “Mrs. Nash, I do beg your pardon. I assumed the room was empty. Lord Garson has called to see Lord Stone, but I’m sure he won’t mind waiting in the library.”

  The butler’s voice seemed to reach him through deep water. Garson couldn’t shift his gaze from the woman who had haunted him for more than four years.

  Even if he’d been warned about meeting
her, he’d have struggled to hide his reaction. Caught unawares, he turned to stone: dumb, unmoving, monolithic. Through the furious blood pounding in his head, he watched her walk toward him, graceful and beautiful as ever.

  “No need to send Lord Garson away, Hunter. We’re old friends. Perhaps you could bring tea and have the candles lit.”

  Her soft voice caressed his ears like music. When she passed the window, he saw her more clearly. Clearer still as his stupor faded, and he remembered to take a breath. She was so exactly like his memory of her, the moment felt unreal. Vaguely he heard Hunter leave.

  “Hugh?” Morwenna cast him a concerned glance. “You don’t mind keeping me company, do you?”

  By God, he acted like an unmannerly lummox. He bowed and when she indicated for him to sit, he did. She took the chair opposite, her blue eyes regarding him with the solemn sincerity he’d always found irresistible.

  After a humiliatingly long time, he even found the gumption to dredge out a few words. “Mrs. Nash, I didn’t know you were in Town.”

  “Mrs. Nash?” She wrinkled her small, straight nose. “You used to call me Morwenna.”

  He used to call her darling and sweetheart and his love. “Morwenna, then.”

  “It’s only a flying visit. The Admiralty want to talk to Robert about South America, although these days, he’s more farmer than sailor. I doubt he’ll have anything useful to say.”

  Garson hid a grimace at the mention of her husband. “It’s a long time since I’ve seen you.”

  Over two years ago, they’d met when Silas’s niece Louisa was christened. The experience had proven so grueling, he’d avoided Nash family celebrations ever since. He hadn’t been alone with Morwenna since before their hideous engagement party.

  “I’m glad I can offer you my congratulations on your marriage. I’d love to meet your wife, if she’s in Town.”

  Clearly Morwenna was out of touch with gossip. “Thank you,” he said, “I’m afraid Jane’s in the country at present.”

  If his last self-righteous speech hadn’t sent his wife hying for Timbuctoo. Now he wished he’d stayed at the Beeches long enough to hear some response to his terms. He wasn’t sorry he’d said his piece—he’d stand by every word. But he could have phrased it more as a negotiation than a final demand.

  “What a pity I’ll miss her. Caro says she’s charming.”

  “She is.” And lovely and troublesome and tempting, and, dear God, he wasn’t sure he could live without her.

  Hunter’s appearance with the tea tray saved Garson from the awkward dilemma of discussing his wife with the previous candidate for the post. A footman bustled around lighting candles.

  By the time he and Morwenna were alone once more, he was capable of putting two thoughts together, instead of feeling like the earth beneath his feet was about to dissolve. When he spoke, he almost sounded like a man in possession of his faculties. “How’s Kerenza?”

  He had fond memories of Morwenna’s spirited daughter. As she passed him a cup of tea, affection softened Morwenna’s smile. It made her stunningly beautiful.

  His first love was beautiful. He hadn’t mistaken that. But as he sat back and let her tales of an obviously happy family life in Devon wash over him, he saw he was wrong to think the years had left her unaffected.

  The Morwenna he’d courted had been frail and lovely and vulnerable, wrapped in a suffocating veil of grief. She’d awoken his innate urge to heal any wounded creature, and that protective impulse had soon turned into love. Today her skin was as white as a pearl, and her eyes were as blue as the sea, and her black hair was as glossy as ever, but she’d fundamentally changed. He saw that she’d found happiness.

  As he listened to her talk about her husband and children—since Robert’s return, two sons had joined the family—he couldn’t muster a moment’s regret that she had. Which was bizarre when jealousy had tormented him for years.

  Fate had reunited her with the man she’d always belonged to. Somewhere since their last meeting, Garson had gained enough distance to recognize that his presence in her life had been a mere distraction at best.

  He realized a silence had fallen, and he glanced up to find Morwenna regarding him quizzically. “I apologize, Hugh. I do tend to rabbit on about the children.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

  She laughed. “No need.” The humor drained from her face. “I’m guessing you find this meeting difficult.”

  Actually once his initial shock faded, he was astonished how easy it was proving. He’d devoted reams of turbulent emotion to this woman. He’d assumed if he ever had her to himself again, that the drama would rival anything he could see at the Royal Opera House.

  Except they were both grown-ups, and the ending of this particular melodrama was settled the moment Robert Nash returned from the dead. What was the point of accusing Morwenna of destroying his life?

  At this moment, the person he’d like to blame for that was his wife. But he couldn’t even do that with a clear conscience, because he was unwillingly aware that most of his present misery resulted from his blind selfishness.

  “Would you rather I wait for Silas in the library?” He supposed by rights, they shouldn’t be alone together, but a few minutes of private conversation in an old friend’s house didn’t test propriety too far.

  She made a dismissive gesture. “No. I’m grateful, because it means I can apologize for how shabbily I treated you after Robert came back.”

  “You wrote to me. You don’t need to do any more.”

  “Yes, I do. I hurt you, and you didn’t deserve it. You behaved so beautifully, when it must have been beastly, having the whole world watching on and anticipating scandal. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

  “If you need my forgiveness, Morwenna—and I don’t think you do—I give it to you wholeheartedly.” To his astonishment, this wasn’t putting a good face on something he couldn’t change. He meant it. “I know you never stopped loving Robert. Everything ended up as it should.”

  A smile twisted her lips. “You remain the perfect gentleman, Hugh.”

  By God, Jane wouldn’t agree. Neither she should, given how he’d behaved toward her. “I hope you’ll remember our friendship with no regrets.”

  “I can now. Thank you, Hugh.” She looked a little brighter. “And everything worked out in the end because you married Jane. If you’re just a fraction as happy as Robert and I are, you’ll be blessed. I wish you many wonderful years together.”

  Any suitable response stuck in his throat. Regret clenched his gut as he recognized that these generous wishes were unlikely to come true.

  The door opened behind him, and Silas, Caro, and their four boisterous children tumbled into the room. Garson set aside his untouched tea and rose to greet his friends. He intercepted a glance between Silas and Caro that conveyed their consternation at finding him closeted with Morwenna. Clearly he hadn’t been the only one expecting melodrama, should this meeting ever take place.

  Within half an hour, Caro and Morwenna left for Fenella’s house, and the children were safely ensconced in the nursery. Garson was at last alone with Silas in his library. With a sigh, he collapsed into a leather chair. After the long ride and months of emotional turmoil, he was exhausted, yet so jumpy, he could hardly keep still. Outside rain crashed against the windows as the storm set in.

  Silas stood at the sideboard and poured two brandies without asking Garson’s preference. “Here. I suspect you need this.”

  Garson accepted the glass and swallowed a mouthful. The liquor did little to soothe his disquiet. “Thanks.”

  Silas took the chair opposite and sipped his own brandy, as he eyed Garson with a doubtful expression.

  “Relax,” Garson said drily. “I’m not about to rampage around the house smashing the Ming vases.”

  Silas didn’t smile. “That must be the first time you and Morwenna have been alone since she went back to Robert.”

  “It was.” He l
ifted his glass to his lips. A distant corner of his mind remarked on the steadiness of his hand. So often, he’d fantasized about seeing his old love and finally getting a chance to talk to her and tell her his side of the story. Now they’d met, and in the end, the sad truth was there was nothing left to say.

  “And you survived.”

  “I did.” The churning whirlpool of emotions inside him calmed to a point where he could reflect on what had just happened. “I did,” he repeated more slowly.

  “Good for you.”

  An unexpectedly companionable silence fell. “I’m sorry I’ve been a stranger,” he said eventually.

  “You’ve had other things to worry about.” Silas rose to refill their glasses. Garson waved him away. He didn’t need liquor. He needed to make some decisions.

  “Jane’s left me.” The bald admission should sting his pride, but he was way past the point where his pride mattered.

  Silas set the decanter down without filling his glass and regarded Garson with a troubled frown. “I’m damned sad to hear that. Anthony said that she’d gone to the country for a rest.”

  “You didn’t believe that.”

  “Perhaps not.” Silas returned to his seat. “But I assumed any estrangement was only temporary.”

  Garson stared sightlessly in front of him. “I hoped so, too.”

  “Morwenna?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now after all this time, you’ve seen her again.”

  “Yes.”

  Another silence, thornier than the last.

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  “Jane?”

  Silas looked surprised at Garson’s instinctive response. “No, Morwenna.”

  He prepared to deliver his usual heated declaration of eternal fealty to his first choice, then stopped before he spoke a word.

  Was he still in love with Morwenna? He’d certainly loved her when he’d proposed to her. Since she’d forsaken him, he’d carried her image etched on his heart. Over the last four years, she’d been behind his every action. He’d pledged himself to her for life.

  But had he? Meeting her just now had been touching and disturbing and awkward, but no overwhelming torrent of frustrated longing had risen to drown him.