Some Like It Wicked (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 1)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Indeed?’ Rupert drawled. ‘Then one wonders why it is that he should require another.’

  ‘Rupert, I really don’t think—’

  ‘Perhaps you might ring and ask Bentley for some tea, Pandora?’ he suggested lightly. ‘We will no doubt be some time discussing this and I am sure Mr Jessop would welcome refreshment.’

  At that moment Pandora’s only wish was that she might strike Rupert Stirling on his infuriatingly aristocratic nose! How dare he just take over the conversation and the offer received for this house, as if Pandora were already his wife and of no more consequence in matters of business than—than a fly upon the wall? It was beyond arrogant. Beyond enduring after being treated in that same way during her marriage to Barnaby!

  ‘You are perfectly correct, Rupert, in assuming that Mr Jessop and I will no doubt be some time discussing this matter. As such, we really must not detain you any longer from dealing with your own, no doubt urgent, affairs.’ She gave him an insincere—and dismissive—smile.

  A dismissal he totally ignored. ‘As I have already informed you, Pandora, I’ve already seen to my own business affairs this morning, and am now more than happy to help you deal with yours.’ He turned to smile at the lawyer. ‘Would you care for tea, Mr Jessop?’

  The other man looked more than a little flustered at the other man’s invitation in what was, after all, still Pandora’s home. ‘I would not wish to intrude upon your time, if you and her Grace have other, more urgent matters, to attend to?’

  ‘We do not—’

  ‘Capital!’ Rupert thanked the younger man with what was so obviously insincere heartiness. ‘As it happens, Pandora and I do have other things to talk of and decide upon this morning. In fact, we were just about to discuss the arrangements for our wedding when you arrived.’

  Pandora gave a shocked gasp even as she felt the colour draining from her face. ‘I—But—’ She broke off any attempt at making a sensible a reply, too stunned by Rupert’s announcement, to think let alone speak coherently at this moment.

  Rupert gave a hard smile of satisfaction as he placed his arm possessively about Pandora’s waist to pull her against his side. ‘There is no reason to be coy in front of Mr Jessop, Pandora, when, as you say, he has been such a good friend to you this past year.’ He turned to the older man. ‘The bishop has this very morning granted us a special marriage licence. I have also spoken with the vicar at St George’s, Hanover Square, and he is more than happy to perform the marriage ceremony later today. Perhaps, if Mr Jessop is available later this afternoon, he might care to attend our wedding?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘—Cannot believe your insufferable arrogance, your sheer high-handedness in daring to so much as approach the bishop regarding a special marriage licence for us when I could not have so much as received a marriage proposal from you at the time, let alone accepted it! And then to also call upon the vicar at St George’s in Hanover Square with the intention of the wedding taking place this very afternoon, and inviting Mr Jessop to the ceremony, without discussing the matter with me first—’

  Rupert had been lounging in an armchair listening for some minutes now to a similar tirade from Pandora as she paced up and down the blue salon, ever since Anthony Jessop had quite wisely made his excuses, gathered up his papers and beaten a hasty retreat, in fact.

  That she had to be running out of steam some time soon called, Rupert supposed, for some sort of response on his part. ‘Magnificent as you are when you’re angry, Pandora, is it not perhaps time for you to stop and draw breath?’

  ‘—is beyond what I might have expected even from you—’ She broke off as his words obviously penetrated the veil of anger, those violet-coloured eyes wide as she came to a halt in front of him. ‘What did you say?’ She stared at him incredulously.

  He gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘You were starting to repeat yourself, pet.’

  ‘Of course I was starting to repeat myself—’

  ‘And now you are starting to repeat my own remarks—’

  ‘Oooh, has there ever before been a gentleman as infuriating as you?’ Two bright wings of colour heightened her cheeks as she really did look as if she might stamp her slippered little foot this time.

  ‘Obviously you don’t believe so,’ he conceded blandly.

  Pandora drew in a sharp breath. ‘Did it even occur to you that I might not wish to marry again?’

  ‘I believe the events of last night made that decision for you. Unless rumour is correct—’ Rupert quirked an arrogant brow ‘—and you are in the habit of staying in the homes and bedchambers, and making love with gentlemen of the ton, whom you have no intention of marrying?’

  Pandora, having been about to deliver another set-down, instead clamped her lips together in mutinous silence. How dare he? How could he …? Ridiculous questions both, Pandora acknowledged frustratedly, when she was already aware that Rupert Stirling dared, could and did do anything he pleased, and that he had done so from the moment the two of them first met.

  But to be informed that the business which had taken Rupert from Stratton House this morning was to collect their special marriage licence from the bishop, a marriage licence he must have requested only the day after meeting her at Sophia’s ball, before going to St George’s and speaking to the vicar there, and then having the audacity to ask the obviously stunned Anthony Jessop if he would care to attend their wedding, was surely beyond that she might have expected even from Rupert ‘Devil’ Stirling!

  ‘How are your burns this morning, Pandora?’

  ‘Another application this morning of your cook’s salve has made them almost disappear,’ she admitted. ‘And please don’t attempt to change the subject, Rupert, when I am still so angry with you.’

  His mind put to rest regarding the comfort of her burns, Rupert decided to answer her. ‘I decided the first night I met you that a marriage between us would be beneficial to both of us and nothing has happened since to change my mind—’

  ‘You decided? Your arrogance is—’

  ‘Yes, yes, so you have said,’ Rupert dismissed wearily. ‘Obviously I would have preferred to discuss the matter with you before going out this morning, but you were sleeping so peacefully when I looked in on you earlier, and after your … disturbed night, I believed it better to leave you that way.’

  The fire in Pandora’s bedchamber had been very disturbing. The time she and Rupert had spent together in his bedchamber had been even more so, but in a totally different way. Which was the reason Pandora had remained sleepless for some time after Rupert had left her the night before, resulting in her sleeping in late this morning.

  She had never dreamed—not realized—

  ‘I’m sure you must agree, Pandora, that after … our closeness last night, our marriage has now become something of a fait accompli?’

  ‘I do not agree.’ She frowned. ‘Admittedly things became a little … emotionally charged, between us last night …’ her cheeks burned at the memory ‘… but I don’t believe it reason enough for you to have just assumed I had accepted your marriage proposal.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  He raised haughty brows. ‘Then perhaps you would care to explain why it happened then?’

  ‘Because you’re an accomplished lover, perhaps?’ Pandora acknowledged huskily.

  ‘As you are a responsive one …’

  ‘Which, I suppose, is only to be expected after all the years you have spent—oh, I do beg your pardon?’ She turned her stricken gaze on him, apprehension in those violet-coloured eyes.

  Rupert frowned slightly as he went towards her and she appeared to flinch at his approach. He came to a halt several feet away from her. ‘My comment was not meant as a criticism, Pandora,’ he said sincerely.

  She blinked. ‘It wasn’t?’

  He slowly shook his head. ‘On the contrary, I consider myself to be the luckiest of men to have been blessed with a wife whose depth of passion so matches my own.�
��

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. ‘I’m not your wife yet.’

  ‘A matter of a few hours only.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

  Pandora looked up at him quizzically. ‘You are sure marriage to me is what you truly want?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nothing else, Pandora noted dazedly, just that unequivocal confirmation. ‘Have you forgotten that an unknown person, for reasons equally unknown, appears to wish me harm? And there is also my reputation to consider.’

  ‘I have forgotten nothing, Pandora,’ he assured grimly. ‘In the first instance you will be safer with me at Stratton House than here, or somewhere equally as exposed in the country.

  In the second, your reputation, as you put it, is exactly that, hearsay and conjecture. It’s my sincere hope that you will one day trust me enough to tell me the truth of that situation.’

  The apprehension in her eyes deepened. ‘And what makes you think that what society chooses to say of me is not the truth?’

  How did Rupert know that? Perhaps because he had come to know Pandora so much better these past few days. Enough to know she was not the selfish adulteress society would have her. Her heart was good and true, in her friendships with Sophia Rowlands and Genevieve Forster, the group of misfits she had hired as her household staff, and even including her dealings with him.

  No, if Pandora truly was guilty of being unfaithful to her husband, then Rupert could only conclude that she had been driven to it by that husband. How or why, he did not know as yet, but it was to be hoped that the investigation Benedict Lucas was even now putting in motion, concerning the names of the people who had visited or stayed with Barnaby Maybury at Highbury House in the years before his death, might provide Rupert with the answers to that question and others.

  ‘It is not,’ he dismissed firmly. ‘And have you forgotten that I confided in you my own reasons for marrying?’

  Of course Pandora hadn’t forgotten that Rupert’s reason for marrying was to rid himself of his father’s widow once and for all, rather than any genuine feelings for Pandora herself; a truth that could not be denied when he had applied for a special marriage licence after knowing her for only a few hours and confirming that he had not offered for Pandora because he loved her or wanted her specifically as his wife, but because he believed her situation in life to be such that she could not refuse him.

  And he was right, of course …

  Pandora’s flight from Stratton House earlier today, all her frantic efforts at packing since her return home, had all been in an effort to deny that which she knew to be inevitable, undeniable: she felt safe with Rupert and had absolutely no doubt that he would protect her, both from society, and whatever danger now stalked her in the night.

  That he could not protect her from her own emotions, from the knowledge that she was falling in love with him, was not his fault but her own.

  She had thought long and hard after Rupert had retired to his dressing room the night before, at first in complete wonder at the physical delights he had introduced her to, along with those feelings of awkwardness at her own wanton response—a response Rupert had now assured her that he thoroughly appreciated rather than abhorred. But following that, once she had been able to see past her loss of control in his arms, had come the knowledge of why she had behaved in that way.

  She was falling in love with him.

  If she had not already done so …

  He was, she now appreciated, everything that a woman most desired in the man she married: handsome, strong, protective of those he considered his own, a considerate and passionate lover, and, on top of all those things, he was also wealthy beyond imagining and in possession of the title of Duke.

  As such any woman would be foolish to refuse his offer of marriage, whatever his reason for making it.

  Pandora, already more than halfway in love with him, would have to be mad to continue fighting her own inclination to accept him.

  Besides which, once the two of them were married, there was always the hope—remote, but still there—that Rupert might one day come to feel a genuine affection for her.

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Rupert, if you are still set on the idea of marrying me—’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘—even knowing the things about me that you do,’ Pandora continued firmly, ‘then I accept your proposal.’

  Rupert had no idea of the process of thoughts which had led her to make her decision—nor was he sure he wished to know them—it was only the end result which was important. ‘And the marriage may take place this afternoon?’

  She swallowed before speaking. ‘If that is what you wish, yes.’

  What Rupert wished was that she did not look quite so much like a sacrificial lamb going to the slaughter! ‘I promise—I hope—that this second marriage will be much happier one for you than your first.’

  Pandora smiled uncertainly. ‘At what time are we expected at St George’s?’

  Rupert removed his pocket watch to look at the time. ‘We have over an hour before—’

  ‘An hour?’ Pandora echoed incredulously, her expression now one of panic. ‘But I’m not dressed suitably to attend my own wedding! Nor is there time to invite any of our friends to join us—’

  ‘I met with Lord Benedict Lucas earlier today and he has already agreed to stand as my own witness, and I am sure that Genevieve Forster would be happy to do the same for you,’ Rupert continued unruffled.

  ‘What of Sophia?’

  He grimaced. ‘I believe there is a battle of wills currently taking place between your friend Sophia and my own friend Dante, and that perhaps we should leave them to … settle the matter between them in private, rather than risk that situation possibly coming to a head at our wedding.’

  Pandora looked at him curiously. ‘The Earl is in love with Sophia?’

  ‘And has been so for more years than I care to think about.’ Rupert nodded.

  And Sophia, Pandora knew, had always protested at considering Dante Carfax as anything more than an old friend and peer of her deceased husband’s nephew and heir. Perhaps Sophia might even have protested that a little too vehemently?

  ‘Very well.’ Pandora nodded briskly. ‘I shall send word to Genevieve immediately.’

  ‘Despite my invitation earlier, dare I suggest that I would prefer it if Jessop were not present, after all?’ Rupert drawled.

  She gave a rueful smile. ‘It would seem, as evidenced by our wedding in an hour’s time, you would dare say anything!’

  He shrugged. ‘Is it my fault that I find Mr Jessop an ingratiating little upstart, with possible designs upon you himself?’ A fact which irritated Rupert immensely, to the point he did not seem able to control that irritation whenever the other man presented himself.

  Pandora snorted. ‘Now you are being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I?’ Rupert murmured softly. ‘The man is far too familiar towards you for my liking.’

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘As I have said, he has been of great help to me since—since Barnaby died.’

  ‘Perhaps in the hopes of ingratiating himself into your bed?’

  ‘Rupert!’

  He looked unmoved by her shocked rebuke. ‘I am merely speculating.’

  ‘Quite incorrectly, I assure you,’ Pandora said primly. ‘Mr Jessop has always behaved the complete gentleman in our dealings together.’

  Rupert looked thoughtful. ‘Nevertheless, I must advise that you not sign any documents regarding the sale of this house until I have looked into that situation more fully.’

  ‘I am sure there is no impropriety there.’

  He shrugged. ‘In that case, it doesn’t signify if the matter is delayed for a few days, does it?’

  Pandora didn’t have the time to spend on such trivialities as Rupert’s imaginings about the attentive Anthony Jessop, or anything else, when her thoughts had already turned to what she could possibly find in her wardrobe to wear for her wedding in one
hour’s time …

  ‘You may now kiss the bride!’ The vicar beamed at Pandora and Rupert benevolently as their marriage service was concluded without incident.

  Rupert turned to his wife, fully appreciative of how lovely she looked in a cream-lace gown and matching bonnet, her mother’s pearls adorning her throat, a bouquet of red roses, provided from the garden of Genevieve Forster, held tightly in her gloved hands as she gazed shyly up at him with those beautiful eyes. ‘Your Grace.’ Rupert sketched her a bow.

  ‘Your Grace,’ she returned softly.

  ‘Will you allow me to steal a kiss, Pandora Stirling, Duchess of Stratton?’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t believe it is stealing if it is freely given.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘We are now husband and wife,’ she murmured softly as she raised her lips to his.

  Rupert reached up to place a hand either side of her face, gazing down into the depths of those stunning violet eyes before he slowly lowered his head and gently kissed her.

  At least, it had been his intention to kiss Pandora gently, before they turned to receive the best wishes of their friends. But that intention fled his mind at the first taste of her delectable lips, and his hands tightened slightly against her cheeks as he ran the tip of his tongue across her lips to part them, before he began to kiss her hungrily.

  ‘Um-hmm.’

  Rupert, lost in the pleasure of kissing Pandora, of kissing the woman who was now his wife, was only vaguely aware of someone clearing their throat noisily.

  ‘I say, old chap, save that for when the two of you are alone, hmm?’ Benedict muttered in amusement.

  Pandora blinked up at Rupert slightly dazedly as he reluctantly ended the kiss, her cheeks blushing a fiery red as she turned to find both their friends watching them with indulgent affection.

  Impossible as it was to believe, she was once again a married woman.