It was an unwelcome thought. As was the jealously that followed. Kelso could take as many mistresses as he wished. She would be protected. Free. No expectations to go about in society or endure a courtship she didn’t want. That is what she should be considering.
“We must get you something proper to wear.” Mrs. Campbell looked down at Elizabeth’s dress as they walked inside. “Goodness, it looks as if you’re wearing a nun’s habit.”
Elizabeth didn’t bother to tell her it was the habit of a novice.
“We can’t have you married in such a thing. Lord Kelso has asked me to find you something pretty to wear. My daughter, thankfully, is a wizard with hair.” She took in the thick braid hanging down Elizabeth’s back.
Mrs. Campbell’s establishment was clean and tidy, smelling of beeswax and old wood. The parlor was already strewn with flowers and filled with comfortable furniture.
As Mrs. Campbell led her up a narrow flight of steps, they passed a couple making their way downstairs.
“You were a lovely bride, Mrs. Hughes,” Mrs. Campbell greeted the couple. “Mr. Hughes.”
Mrs. Hughes, a pale blonde with sparkling eyes, giggled at her new name. “We’re off now, aren’t we, darling?” Her eyes shone with adoration as she looked up at her new husband.
Mr. Hughes, a handsome man wearing a pair of wire glasses perched on his nose, raised his bride’s fingertips to his mouth for a kiss. “Indeed we are, Mrs. Hughes.”
“Married late last night,” Mrs. Campbell whispered to Elizabeth as they passed the pair. “Terribly in love.”
Elizabeth looked away from the Hughes and resolutely moved forward. Her marriage would not be so full of such giggling affection. “How lovely for the Hughes. They look very happy.”
Mrs. Campbell led Elizabeth to a room at the end of the hall. “Lord Kelso wanted our best room. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable, but if you need anything you’ve only to ask. I’m sure you’ll be wanting a bath and tea? My daughter, Mabel, will be happy to assist you in the bath. I’ll pop out now to hunt down a proper dress for you. My sister is a dressmaker and always keeps several ready-made garments on hand for occasions such as these. Lord Kelso requested a gown in blue to match your eyes.”
“I’d be grateful for a bath and tea.” Not so grateful that Kelso had seen fit to choose her clothing. Even though she’d be thrilled to be rid of the novice’s habit, which was looking a little worse for the wear. The gray fabric was stained with dirt and the skirt had torn.
“I’ve just baked some fresh biscuits with currants.” Mrs. Campbell dipped into a slight curtsy before disappearing through the door in a swirl of calico skirts.
Elizabeth took a deep breath as she looked around the room, her head spinning. “Bollocks.”
She walked around the room, admiring the care that had been taken to make it comfortable. Two wing-backed chairs sat before a hearth that already crackled with the warmth of a fire. A small round table, only large enough for two, was positioned between the chairs and held a vase of fresh flowers. The rug beneath her feet showed patches of wear but was of fine quality. But it was the bed, oversized with an ornately carved headboard, which drew Elizabeth’s attention. She tried to focus on the thick mattress and the pleasing color of the quilt. Anxiety rose to the surface of her skin the longer she stared at the bed.
Breathe, Elizabeth.
She did. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth thought of the crash of the sea and the cliffs outside of St. Albans. Her heart rate slowed and ceased to beat in an uneven rhythm. A sharp rap at the door shook her from her thoughts.
A young woman beamed at her, bustling in with a tray filled with sandwiches, the aforementioned biscuits with currants, and a steaming pot of tea. She introduced herself as Mabel. Placing the tray down on the table before the fire, she cooed in appreciation at Elizabeth’s hair, examining the braid with great interest. After promising to be back after a time with the bath, Mabel bobbed politely and withdrew.
A large grumble arose from Elizabeth’s midsection. She was starving, grateful Mabel had left her to devour the tea tray in privacy. Pouring herself a cup of tea she sank her teeth into one of the biscuits, moaning in pleasure.
“Are you making love to that biscuit or eating it?” Kelso strolled into the room and snatched a sandwich off the tray in a furtive manner. “I should be quick least I lose a finger. Good Lord, I’ve never seen such a small person eat so much.”
“I’ve been hungry for as long as I can remember.” A sensation of being pulled by a tether in his direction caused her to stop chewing momentarily. The anxiety which had filled her only moments before abated to a gentle hum.
“You were starved at St. Albans?” The twinkle in his eye told her he didn’t believe such a thing.
“We did not overindulge at St. Albans; Mother Hildegard considered anything more than bare necessity to be a sin. Gluttony and all that.” She held a piece of biscuit slathered in butter before popping it into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss.
“Poor little nun.” Kelso reached for a piece of cheese.
She ignored his sarcasm. “Mother never allowed me to eat when I was a child, fearing I would grow stout. My sister, Miranda, was tortured far worse than I. She had been chubby when she was much younger, and Mother starved her. I was only permitted tiny meals. One biscuit with tea, never with butter or jam. One small slice of pheasant at dinner. Possibly a potato if Mother was feeling generous or she’d had too much wine.”
Kelso watched her grab a scone. “You should eat what you wish, when you wish it,” he said.
“A grand idea.” Elizabeth bit into a scone. “I shall. After all, who should care?”
* * *
Who knew watching his future wife eat a scone would be so erotic? Her tiny pink tongue licked off a bit of frosting from her lip and Spence had to shift in his seat to put a stop to his mounting erection. He was almost constantly aroused in her presence. Had he really promised this beautiful creature a marriage of convenience? One lacking physical demands on her person save for tonight?
I’m not marrying her in order to bed her.
Not a complete lie. His primary reason for marrying Elizabeth was leverage, so he could stop slinking around in the dark, snapping the necks of men at the ministry’s command. He simply didn’t want to waste his time sloughing through the virgin horde of the ton to find a bride. Elizabeth was already here and needed a husband. Spence was saving her from Langford and Jeanette Reynolds. Sparing her from having to go out amongst society if she didn’t wish to. More importantly, though he’d never admit such to her, Spence enjoyed the little nun’s company. She interested him. When was the last time he’d honestly found a woman so appealing?
“Pray leave me something to eat.” He snaked another piece of cheese from the tray along with a biscuit. “I’m hungry as well. And I’m injured. You’d think someone with your intuition in healing the sick would know such a thing.”
“How many terrible puns must I endure?” Elizabeth made a disgruntled sound of annoyance. “There’s more than enough food for two people. Stop grousing at me.”
Warmth stretched up the length of Spence’s torso at her tart reply and it had nothing to do with lust, though his arousal increased significantly. The erection strained the already tight leather breeches. Thank God he was still wearing his coat lest she run screaming from the room. Elizabeth was already nervous about what would transpire this evening. He didn’t want her to be afraid, especially of him. There would be plenty of time for that emotion later, when she found out what he was. It shouldn’t matter to him, given the nature of their marriage, but it did.
“I’ll leave you to your bath. Mrs. Campbell will be bringing you something to wear.” There was a tavern down the street where he could have a scotch and cool his ardor. “I’ll fetch you in an hour or so.”
Disappointment at his leaving flashed in her eyes before she picked up another scone.
Warmth blossomed again, this time directly over his he
art. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”
Elizabeth nodded, mouth full, her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter.
He hesitated, wanting nothing more than to sit down again and watch his future wife devour the entire tea tray. A knock followed by two young women and a copper tub changed his mind. “Enjoy your bath.” He looked at the near empty tea tray. “And your biscuits.”
16
The ceremony binding Elizabeth Reynolds to Henry Spencer Hammond, Twelfth Baron Kelso, was brief, lacking all the fanfare most would associate with a wedding between the daughter of a marquess to one of the oldest and wealthiest titles in England. The only witness to the event besides Mrs. Campbell and Mabel was Porter, who gave the bride away. Elizabeth even managed to take Porter’s arm. Only Kelso’s presence made such a thing easier.
Elizabeth wore the hastily procured dress, a blue muslin sprigged with daisies. The dress did deepen the sapphire of her eyes, but the neckline also revealed a healthy portion of her bosom, the garment having been made for a woman not nearly as well-endowed. It was strange to wear something other than the gray novice habit. She spun around, watching the skirts lift around her ankles. Mrs. Campbell had also procured her a clean shift and stockings.
Kelso’s eyes roamed over her as she approached to take his arm, lingering in the region of her bosom. Mrs. Campbell thrust a bouquet of hastily picked wildflowers into Elizabeth’s hands as the ceremony commenced. Kelso’s scent surrounded her as she took her place next to him. Spice and soap with a hint of tobacco embraced her even as he took her hand, toying with her fingers until they laced with his. At the slight tremor she exhibited, he tightened his grip, reassuring Elizabeth with his presence.
She cast him a sideways glance. The ends of his hair were still damp, and he’d managed to procure a clean shirt, but Kelso still hadn’t shaved. His eyes looked down at her in question.
“Elizabeth?” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
She hadn’t been paying attention and everyone was waiting for her agreement. “Yes.”
The cool weight of a gold band slid over her finger, surprising her. For some reason, she hadn’t thought he’d get her a ring.
Kelso leaned over her, brushing his lips against hers.
It was only the briefest touch of his mouth, barely enough to be called a kiss, but the light touch still set her pulse pounding.
Now, barely an hour later, her lips still tingled at the kiss which had bound her to Kelso. He’d sent her up to the room they would share with an excuse that he had something to discuss with Porter, wisely leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts. She found his ability to gauge her emotions so clearly to be strangely comforting, though the same was not true in reverse. She’d no idea what Kelso had been thinking during the ceremony, or at any other time. Her husband was very good at masking his thoughts.
Elizabeth wandered to the hearth and stood before the roaring fire, raising the hem of her dress to allow the heat to seep beneath her skirts. The cloudy day had gone dark. Rain pelted the streets outside and streamed down the paned window. Kelso was outside somewhere.
Elizabeth sighed, both wishing him close and wishing she had a few more moments to think at the same time. There would be repercussions to Elizabeth becoming Lady Kelso.
She twisted the gold band on her finger, the firelight glinting against the gold like a brand. She’d been so certain she would be a nun and live a peaceful existence hidden away at the Scottish border. The decision had been cowardly. Elizabeth could see that now. Even if Mother hadn’t taken her from St. Albans, Mother Hildegard would not have allowed Elizabeth to start her training as a novice. The abbess had been correct. Elizabeth possessed no calling to serve God. Fear had been behind her desire to stay at St. Albans, not devotion.
Elizabeth shot a glance at the bed dominating the small room.
Mother would be furious Elizabeth was no longer a carrot to be dangled before Langford to get what she wanted. Her grand scheme of returning to the arms of the ton had been effectively thwarted. Elizabeth fervently hoped her marriage would put an end to any further association with Jeanette Reynolds.
Though, the rest of Elizabeth’s family would likely be just as shocked and not at all happy to know that she had married. She doubted Kelso would be Sutton’s choice of husband for her. Did her brother know she was missing from St. Albans yet? Had he been informed of the death of Herbert Reynolds? More importantly, would Sutton understand why she’d married with such expediency?
I’ve made my choice. She had no regret over marrying Kelso.
As her gaze followed a line of water down the window, Elizabeth spied Kelso on the street below, making his way toward the inn. He moved with athletic grace, almost as if he were dancing, deftly sidestepping a group of children to jump over a puddle. His steps were casual, unhurried, as if he were merely enjoying a stroll in the rain.
Kelso suddenly halted and looked up, finding her in an instant at the window.
An invisible thread pulled Elizabeth to Kelso, drawing her to him. She pushed closer to the cool glass until her nose pressed into the window.
Kelso lowered his head and leapt up the steps of the inn.
Hers was to be a marriage of convenience as so many were, and nothing more. Practical. Logical. Both parties would reap benefits from their union. Regardless of her feeling of connection, there would be no outpourings of affection beyond the bounds of friendship. He’d been kind to her, probably due more to the close relationship between their families than out of any feelings for her. Elizabeth appreciated his care. And she’d no doubt he meant to ensure her safety.
Her gaze landed again on the oversized piece of furniture, the focal point of the room. It was difficult to avoid looking at the oversized bed. Mrs. Campbell, or possibly Mabel, had strung a garland of fresh flowers across the headboard. The quilt had been carefully folded back. The anxiety came roaring back, surging up her throat and threatening to choke her. There was no other choice but to endure their wedding night.
She startled at the sound of the door opening.
“I assume you’re hungry?” Kelso dripped water all over the floor, shaking himself like the wolf Mrs. Campbell had accused him of being. His gaze went from her and then to the bed, then back to her face. “I heard your stomach growling all the way downstairs,” he added.
“I am always hungry, my lord.” The smell of roasted lamb reached her nostrils, floating up from somewhere below. “Smells like lamb, which I adore. It was rare we enjoyed such a treat at St. Albans. You are dripping water all over the floor, my lord.”
“I’ve yet to see something on a plate which you do not adore.” He took his coat off and placed it before the fire to dry.
“I’m not fond of beets.” The anxious feeling faded when confronted with Kelso’s presence dominating the room. She had the most curious urge to wrap her arms around his waist and bury herself into his chest.
“Beets.” His lips pulled down into a frown. “A nasty tuber. I share your dislike. No beets for us.”
Us. Elizabeth’s insides vibrated pleasantly at the word.
“Here we are.” Mabel appeared at the door with another young girl, both bearing trays. The women made their way to the table before the hearth and busied themselves setting up the wedding meal.
Mabel snuck a sideways glance at Kelso, her cheeks pinking.
Kelso didn’t seem to notice the woman’s interest; instead, his large form circled Elizabeth, like a big tomcat wishing for her attention. Her spine arched toward him as he came closer, spilling heat over her shoulders. Raindrops splattered against the back of her neck from his damp hair. At the feel of his breath against her ear, a delicious shiver ran down her back.
“Shall we dine?” The soft growl caressed her skin.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll give you a head start, Kelso. But I warn you, everything on the table is fair game.”
Amusement vibrated in his chest. “Duly noted. I shall keep my fingers
well out of range of your fork.”
A giggle met her ears along with a polite cough. “Will that be all, my lord?”
Elizabeth blinked. She’d forgotten Mabel and her friend were still in the room. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. Kelso not only dominated the room but also her senses, rendering her blind to everyone else.
“Yes, thank you. Mabel, is it?” The warmth at her back disappeared as Kelso turned his charm upon Mrs. Campbell’s daughter.
“Indeed, my lord.” Another soft giggle. “And this is Meg.
The girl at Mabel’s side bobbed into a curtsy. Meg was no more than fourteen. She blushed furiously at Kelso’s attention.
“Your dinner is ready, my lord.” Mabel waved at the table. “I hope you…enjoy your evening.”
“My wife and I are deeply appreciative.” A jingle of coins sounded. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
More giggling along with the swish of skirts and footsteps reached Elizabeth before the door closed and she was alone with her husband.
17
“Time to eat. Stop staring out the window with such melancholy. It’s not as if you’ll be ravished over the potatoes. Tupped over the lamb. Devoured—”
“Enough, Kelso.” Elizabeth appreciated his attempt to lighten the tension in the room. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m a virgin on my wedding night. I’ve every reason to be nervous trapped in this room…with you.”
He held out one of the chairs and motioned for her to sit. “Trapped? No woman of my acquaintance has equated my company with being held captive.”
The comment pricked at her. She didn’t care to be constantly reminded of his attractiveness to other women nor the fact he would be seeking their company. It was only nerves, she decided, over the consummation of her marriage, something that would happen once and then not again. “There’s no need to brag of your conquests. I assure you I’m not interested.”
Kelso gave a careless shrug and settled himself across from her. A bottle of spirits sat on the table. The liquid was a shimmering golden brown, the same lovely color as the hair which hung in thick waves around his face. The hair darkening his jawline gave him a rakish look. “I’ve no intention of boring you with my escapades, though they are quite amusing.”
Still Wicked Page 10