She got to her feet, too restless to remain still. How much she had enjoyed waltzing with her husband. She could still feel his strong arms guiding her across the dance floor. Smell his masculine scent. Remember the way his piercing gaze made her shiver when he glanced at her. Now, they would make love.
Love—that was far too extreme a term to use, especially given the circumstances of their relationship. Still, the act couldn’t be completed without some degree of intimacy. They would be partially unclothed, and their bare skin would touch. She imagined Northrup kissing her. Not the brief contact with which he sealed their marriage vows, but his firm, masculine lips pressed against hers...
No! She dare not think such thoughts. If she did, she would never be able to face him.
She paced to the dressing table, picked up her brush and raked it through her hair, then paused to stare at her reflection. What if he were disappointed in her looks? He might well favor another sort of woman altogether. One with dark hair and eyes. Someone more voluptuous. Taller. Or more petite.
She frowned at herself in the mirror. All her life she’d strived to meet a certain ideal, an image of refined, demure womanhood. But what if that wasn’t what Northrup wanted? What if he preferred his bed partners to be exotic and clever, outspoken and witty?
She closed her eyes. It was positively hen-witted of her to dwell on such things. She couldn’t change who she was. All she could do was hope that her husband was either pleased with her, or polite enough to keep his disappointment to himself.
Of course he would be polite. Outside of his furious departure after that first conference with her father, he’d never been anything but well-mannered in her presence. He was a gentleman, horn and bred to be unfailingly chivalrous. He would never let on that he disliked being married to her.
But surely she would know—sense some hesitancy in his touch, some tension in his body when he touched her. And, over the years, the doubts would gnaw away...
The thought made her gasp with annoyance. “This is absurd,” she said aloud. “I’ll go mad if I think like this.”
The door opened. It was Jeanette returning with a crystal decanter and some glasses on a tray. She went over to the escritoire and set the tray down. “There now,” the maid said. “You’re all ready. I’m certain his lordship will be here any moment.”
Jeanette left. Caroline stared at the fire. Then, after a time, she went to the escritoire and touched the brandy decanter thoughtfully. If ever she needed a touch of spirits, it was this night. She felt as if she might jump out of her skin. On impulse, she poured herself a small glass of brandy and drank it down. She shuddered as the liquid burned her throat, then went and sat in the armchair.
The potent liquid seemed to help settle the butterflies floating in her stomach and she began to feel much better. After a while, she decided she was ready to face almost anything. Even the prospect of being intimate with the debonair Lord Northrup—her husband.
~ ~ ~
Devon paused in the darkened hallway and waited for the footman who’d guided him there to make his way back down the stairs. As the servant’s footsteps faded away, he turned toward the bedroom door. Behind it awaited his wife. She undoubtedly expected him to join her and fulfill his wedding night responsibilities. But he wasn’t going to do so. There was no possible way he could touch her now.
He stiffened as he recalled the conversation with Beaumont that had taken place soon after he’d arrived at the town house. Smiling smugly, the merchant had leaned near and said, “Welcome to the family, Northrup. I think you’ll find marriage to my daughter most tolerable. But I’d like to add a bit of incentive to make sure you try and please her. On the birth of my first grandson, I’ll pay you an additional fifty thousand pounds.”
Remembering, Devon gritted his teeth. He’d felt from the beginning that in accepting this arrangement he was little better than a whore but Beaumont’s new “incentive” made the marriage even more repulsive. He had to draw the line somewhere. Perhaps at some point he’d take his wife to bed, but first he had to get over this overwhelming fury and outrage. The way Beaumont sought to manipulate him reminded him all too keenly of his father.
He’d thought once his hellish sire was dead, he’d be free. But he wasn’t. The bastard had made certain his son would suffer and struggle even after he went to the grave! The familiar bitterness welled up. All those years, his father had controlled and used him. Now Merton Beaumont had taken his place. That was why he despised the merchant so intensely, why he had resisted the lucrative offer for as long as he had. Beaumont’s money had saved him, given him the capital he needed to make his son’s life different than his own had been. But as welcome as the marriage settlement was, he wasn’t about to bed a woman for money. He had some pride left.
Jerking around, he stalked down the hall. He’d find some other place to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Caroline woke slowly, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, and a glance around the room explained it. She’d slept in the chair all night. Northrup had never come to her bedchamber. Disappointment filled her, followed quickly by anger. Had he found the idea of bedding her so distasteful that he decided to sleep elsewhere? It was insulting. While not an incomparable, she knew she was attractive. She’d had her share of admiring glances over the past Season.
Then again, perhaps Northrup was trying to be considerate. They hardly knew each other. It would certainly have been awkward to...
Her thoughts trailed off, shying from the act that was too mysterious and provocative to contemplate. Truth was, she’d never even been kissed before the dry, formal gesture at the close of the wedding ceremony. Perhaps it was because men were afraid of her father, but none of her escorts and dance partners had ever done anything more intimate than press their lips to her hand.
She started across the room to ring for Jeanette, but before she could do so, there was a knock at the door and the maid came dashing in. “Laud, Miss, we must get you ready straight away! The earl’s all-fired eager to leave for the country. That’s a man for you. Has no idea what it takes to outfit a lady for a journey.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline said. “I did promise him that I would be ready early.”
“But it’s impossible!” Jeanette cried. “We’ll have to rush like mad, and even then, there’s no way to get everything packed in time.”
“Just get the bare essentials together. You’ll have to take a coach up with the rest of my luggage tomorrow or the day after.”
Jeanette smiled teasingly. “You’re certainly eager to be with your husband. Last night must have been very much to your liking.”
Caroline froze. She couldn’t tell her maid that Northrup never even came to the bedchamber. “How did my father take the news that I was leaving this morning?” she asked, ignoring the maid’s unsettling remark.
Jeanette shook her head. “The earl and Mr. Beaumont, they’re like a pair of dogs, disliking each other on sight. Best thing we can do is get them separated so they don’t go tearing at each other’s throats. Now that’s a worthwhile reason to get you gone. If the earl stays in the house much longer, do fear for Mr. Beaumont,”
Caroline shook her head. “I wish Papa wouldn’t always bully people. I’m afraid this time he’s tangled with someone he can’t easily intimidate.”
“You might be right, miss, I mean ma’am.” Jeanette deftly helped Caroline into clean “unmentionables,” then slid an amaranthine blue velvet traveling dress over her head. “I vow, the earl is not a man to rile.” She began to fasten the innumerable tiny hooks at the back of Caroline’s dress. “But I doubt you’ll ever get a taste of his ire. He’s a gentleman, he is. Through and through. He’d never treat a woman with less than perfect courtesy.”
Caroline stared unseeingly into the glass above her dressing table. Courtesy? Was that why Northrup had failed to come to her bedchamber on their wedding night?
Three
After a bit of toast and some hot chocolate for breakf
ast, Caroline went to the library to say goodbye to her father.
He looked so uncharacteristically glum that she immediately wrapped her arms around his bulk. “There now, Papa, we’re not saying good-bye for long. I’ll come back to London often, I promise.”
Her father hugged her back. “He’ll take good care of you, lambkin. I’ve made certain of that.”
Caroline drew away, wondering what her father meant. Then Northrup cleared his throat at the doorway, and she realized she must be off.
“Good-bye, Papa. I’ll write soon.”
As Northrup escorted her from the library, a twinge of her father’s melancholy afflicted her. She was leaving everything familiar and comfortable. Not merely her home for the past few months, but her father and all the Beaumont servants, many of whom she’d known much of her life. Now she embarked on a new existence, in a place she’d never even visited, with a husband who was yet a stranger. The only person she’d know at Darton Park, as the Northrup estate was called, would be Jeanette and she wouldn’t be arriving for several days.
Northrup seemed to sense her pensive thoughts, for he paused outside the carriage. “There’s still time to change your mind about coming with me,” he said. “I’d be happy to send a carriage to collect you and your maid in a few days.”
He sounded so sincere and compassionate, but she couldn’t help being suspicious of his motives. Besides, she was no milk-and-water miss to shy away from challenging circumstances. “That won’t be necessary,” she said firmly. “I’m ready to leave now. I’ll fine, I assure you.” She smiled up at him.
He gave her the faintest of smiles in return, then took her arm to help her into the waiting vehicle.
Inside the vehicle, Caroline drew her pelisse tightly around her body and collected her thoughts. She and her husband had a ride of several hours ahead of them. What would they converse about on the way?
She glanced at him, sitting across from her. This carriage was smaller than the one that had taken them from the church to the town house, their proximity so much more intimate. In the small space, Northrup seemed bigger than ever, his long legs stretched out close to hers, his tall, muscular form dominating his half of the vehicle.
The awareness of his size and strength caused a little thrill to ripple through her. Northrup was different from any man she’d known before. The coiled energy and strength revealed by his athletic build, his striking coloring, the faint black hairs on the backs of his hands—everything about him was so provocatively, disturbingly male. She was a tiny bit afraid of him, but also tantalized.
Then she looked at his face, and his moody, forbidding expression reminded her of more practical concerns. Was he angry that she’d insisted on coming with him? Would he be cold and distant the whole journey? It would be most uncomfortable to endure hours of strained silence. Better to have things out in the open.
She cleared her throat. “My lord, you seem in a great hurry to get to your country home. Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask what urgent business awaits you there?”
His haunting gold-green eyes fixed on her with an intensity that quite took her breath away. “You must call me Devon,” he said. “‘My lord’ is too absurdly formal under the circumstances. And, yes, you may ask about my business at Darton Park. You see, I have plans to make a number of agriculture improvements there. Now that I have the funds, I am anxious to proceed immediately.”
“But it’s only October,” she said. “I wouldn’t think that there would be much you could do in terms of crops and such this time of year.”
He shook his head. “Actually, there is a great deal to be done. I want to look into buying up some land that runs along the edge of the estate, so there’ll be a larger area to farm. I also want to explore a new system of crop rotation. It’s supposed to result in greater yields with less need to spread lime or fertilize every year.”
Fertilizer. Crop rotation? It amazed Caroline to think of this elegantly disdainful man concerning himself with such mundane and pragmatic matters. At the same time, it reassured her. Northrup might be more like her father than she’d thought. He obviously had plans for the future—concrete goals and ambitions. To discover that her dowry would go for agricultural improvements was almost laughably comforting. And here she’d feared he meant to squander it on shallow entertainments!
“How much land?” she asked. “Do you think the owners will agree to sell?”
“It belongs to a number of small cottagers who till it for their own purposes. I imagine they’ll be eager for the income.
“But what will happen to them after they sell their land? Will they all have to move away?”
“We’ll employ them. With many of their sons and daughters already gone off to take jobs in Derlingham, they don’t have enough hands at home to make a go of it anyway. They’ll be grateful for the steady employment and income. In a bad year, I can better afford the risk than they can. Besides, as partial payment, I mean to build them new cottages. The ones they’re living in now are in quite bad repair.”
“You’ve thought about this a great deal, haven’t you?” she asked.
He nodded, once more looking grim. “I’ve had years to think on it. Years and years.”
Caroline suddenly realized that their marriage offered Northrup a new beginning as much as it did her. With her father’s money, he could finally realize his dream.
Then another thought came to her. Northrup—Devon—must be close to thirty. Why had he waited so long to search out an heiress and marry? If his goals for Darton Park were so important to him, why hadn’t he found the means to pursue them before this?
She recalled hearing that Northrup had lived in Ireland for a number of years and only recently returned to England. What had kept him away from his home for so long?
“I’m curious, my lord—Devon,” she began. “Why didn’t you pursue your plans for the estate before this? Part of it was... lack of funding, I’m certain, but there must have been something else.”
“Yes,” he said. “There was. My father died a few months ago. Only then did I feel free to live my life as I chose.”
The tone of his voice and the biter look that came over his face prompted Caroline’s next question. “I take it that you didn’t get on with your parent?”
Devon’s laugh was harsh and raw. “No, I did not. He was a hateful bastard. If he could have found a way to completely ruin me that didn’t mean Darton Park falling into the hands of strangers, he would have arranged it.”
“But why?” Caroline was shocked by his words. Her father would do anything for her. She couldn’t imagine a parent being so callous and cruel. “Why would he want to ruin you?”
“Because he couldn’t control me.” A muscle twitched in Devon’s jaw. “He wanted me to behave a certain way, choose a certain kind of life, and I defied him.”
“By going to Ireland?” Caroline guessed.
If she’d thought her husband’s countenance forbidding before, his expression became ever harsher now “Yes.” He bit off the word, then said no more.
Observing the way his breast heaved, the turmoil in his eyes, she decided to change the subject. “Perhaps while you pursue your plans for the rest of the property, I can look into refurbishing the house itself. You did say that it was in sad repair.”
He started, as if he’d almost forgotten her presence, and then nodded. “The place indeed has gone to ‘rack and ruin.’ But are you certain you want to undertake such a project?” A warning look glinted in his eyes, and Caroline felt certain he meant to discourage her from remaining at Darton Park. The realization made her angry.
“I’m not someone who likes to recline on a settee all clay and stuff myself with confections. I prefer to keep myself busy, and renovating a house sounds very much to my liking. I’d welcome the chance to undertake such a project, and I’m certain it wouldn’t tax me overly. What else is a wife supposed to do with herself, at least until she has children to care for?”
A strange look crossed his face at the mention of children, and Caroline realized abruptly that unless things progressed between them further than they had last night, there could be no possibility of offspring. Was that what he planned? Was theirs to be a marriage in name only, a joining of financial resources and households, but not flesh?
She felt herself flushing, and not all of her discomposure was caused by anger. The truth was, she desired her husband. She wanted him to take her to bed—God help her.
“I apologize.” His voice sounded quiet and composed after her outburst. “Of course, you may act as mistress of your own home. Redecorate and renovate to your heart’s content. But be aware that even with the settlement from your father, I am not a wealthy man. I can’t afford for you to be extravagant. Improvements in the farming operation must take precedence over whatever you plan for the house itself.”
Not a wealthy man? How much did additional farmland, new cottages and additional workers cost? The hundred thousand her father had paid him seemed like a fortune. Did he have other debts to settle, expenses she didn’t know about?
She repressed a sigh of aggravation. The more she learned about her husband, the more mysterious he appeared. Although he had spoken freely about his plans for the future, she sensed he held something back. Something that her instincts told her was vitally important to her future.
The tension between them was almost palpable. In an effort to restore the atmosphere of polite formality, Caroline feigned a yawn, then leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes.
In time, the swaying motion of the carriage and the strain of the previous day caught up with her, and she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke, she found they had stopped at a posting station in St. Albans to change horses. Caroline got out, went in and used the necessary, then rejoined her husband in the carriage.
Once they set off again, she occupied herself with gazing out the window at the passing landscape. It was a beautiful fall day, and the forest lands were ablaze with color. After a moment, she sighed and said, “I’m actually looking forward to living in the country, away from the noise and soot of the city.”
Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords) Page 3