by Laura Landon
Ben shook his head. “No, you rarely remembered what you did when drinking too much. That’s why I always tried to stay close.”
“If you remember,” Ben continued. “That was the night Gideon was shot and they didn’t think he’d live. That’s the only thing I remember from that time.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten. Well, according to Julia Bentley, Lady Rachael was found in a bedroom that wasn’t her own.”
“Whose was it?”
“Actually, no one’s.”
“No one’s?”
“It was an unused guest room.”
“Who was she found with?”
“No one.”
“She was discovered alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then, how did the rumors start that she’d been ruined?”
“There was…evidence that she had been.”
“And no one saw anything?”
Covey shook his head.
“And the coward didn’t come forward?”
Covey shook his head again.
Benjamin let what Covey told him sink in. His bride had slept with someone before her marriage. And she was left to face the consequences alone.
He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter all that much that she came to him ruined. And he was almost convinced.
Almost.
. . .
Rachael saw the man she’d just married reenter the room with Lord Covington. She’d seen him leave, and had been watching for him to return.
She didn’t expect him to approach her. He hadn’t spoken more than a half dozen words to her all through the wedding breakfast. He’d overlooked her the same as she was used to being overlooked at every social function. She’d never been included in the crowd Lord Benjamin was a part of, so it didn’t come as any surprise that he was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that he’d married her.
“Oh, Rachael, I can’t believe you are married.”
“And to Lord Benjamin.”
Rachael turned to greet the brimming smiles of her two best friends, Emily Sidwell and Portence Weatherby. They’d stood by her when she returned from the Earl of Comston’s house party a pariah. That had been more than a year ago. And during that time, they’d been her only connection to the outside world, other than her sisters, who shared news of the social functions they’d attended.
“This must be like a dream come true,” Portence said on a sigh.
Rachael forced a smile. “Yes,” she answered. “A dream come true.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I received your message,” Emily said. “You must have been ecstatic when Lord Benjamin asked for your hand.”
“I could hardly believe it,” she added, piling on the lies. “I didn’t realize he’d ever noticed me.”
“Oh, look,” Portence gasped. “Here he comes.”
Rachael’s heart hammered in her breast. The blood roared in her head. She’d known they’d have to play the roles they’d been assigned sooner or later, but she wasn’t sure she was prepared to go on stage just yet. But she needed to be, whether she was ready or not. He was walking toward her.
Rachael was struck anew by his handsome features and his captivating presence. His hair was not as dark as his father’s, or his brother, Lord Sheffield’s, but a honey-colored brown. And his eyes were a deep blue that saw more than he pretended to the world he saw.
He approached her with a confident set to his shoulders and movements as powerful as those of his father. There was no doubt that he’d been raised and trained in the house of nobility.
Rachael tried not to feel intimidated by him, but it was difficult. Until she remembered what he was—a rake of the worst kind. Not until she remembered that he was the last sort of man she ever wanted to marry.
When he was near, she turned to face him. She remembered to put a smile on her face as an afterthought. “My lord,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too timid. Hoping her smile seemed genuine. “I’d like to introduce you to two of my closest friends. Lady Portence Weatherby, and Lady Emily Sidwell.”
Lord Benjamin bowed. “Lady Portence. Lady Emily. I’m glad you could attend our wedding celebration. I know it means a great deal to my wife.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Rachael has always been our dearest friend.”
“Then I look forward to having you visit my wife often after we get settled.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Portence and Emily said in unison.
“Now, if you don’t mind. Several more guests have arrived and wish to greet my wife.”
“Of course,” Emily and Portence said.
As if he was pleased to have her at his side, he lifted her hand and placed it on his arm.
The feel of his muscled strength felt strange beneath her fingertips. She very much wanted to pull away from him, but the connection of his hand resting over hers wasn’t as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. In fact, there was a certain security in being near him. A strength she could rely upon. And it had been so long since she’d had someone to lean on.
She walked with him to the other side of the room. Instead of introducing her to any new arrivals, however, he escorted her out the side entrance of the large salon and down several doors to one of the smaller rooms. When inside, he closed the door behind them and walked to the sideboard where her father kept several decanters. He pulled the stopper from one and poured a small amount into one glass and a larger amount into another. He handed her the glass with the lesser amount.
“I thought you might need this,” he said after he’d taken a swallow of the liquor in his glass. “I know I do.”
Rachael took a small sip of what he’d poured, then sat on the nearest chair. “Are you going to survive this?” she asked.
He looked at her over his shoulder and lifted his eyebrows. “Are you referring to this day, or the rest of our lives?”
His deliberate question attacked her with the force of a punch to her stomach. “I prefer only to think about today,” she answered. “I’m not sure I can consider anything beyond that.”
He took another swallow from his glass, then walked from the far side of the room to the window. He stood with his back to her. “We need to talk,” he said.
“You surprise me, my lord. I assumed we’d have this conversation later.”
“You sound as if you already know what I’m going to say.”
Rachael clutched her hands tighter in her lap to keep them from shaking. She took several deep breaths to keep her heart from pounding in her chest. She swallowed past the lump in her throat to keep her voice steady when she spoke. She felt as if she were losing every skirmish. Which meant that eventually she’d lose the war. And that was something she couldn’t allow.
“I believe the first topic you’d like to discuss concerns our living arrangements. You are searching for an escape to the unpleasant thought of spending the night in the same bed with your new bride. I think you cannot bring yourself to handle that yet.”
He spun from the window to face her. The startled expression on his face would have been humorous if it didn’t indicate how accurate her assessment had been.
“Another topic concerns how we are going to handle our entry into Society. You are curious as to what involvement I expect to play in connection with your circle of friends.”
The startled look on his face became more intense. Rachael wanted to quit, but knew she couldn’t. The ground rules had to be laid out now. None of the decisions they needed to make would be easier tomorrow or the next day.
“And most of all, you want to know what kind of husband I expect you to be.”
She watched as he took a combative step toward her.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to ask me if I don’t prefer to have our marriage annulled?”
“No, my lord. I don’t need to ask that question. I already know the answer. Unfortunately, your father wouldn’t consider that option, although I’m sure you’ve in
quired several times over the past few weeks if His Grace would reconsider his demand that you marry me.”
The corners of his mouth lifted to form a sinister smile. “Because you did, too?” he asked.
“No, my lord. The possibility of not going through with our marriage isn’t something I have the choice of considering.”
“Because you have the chance to marry the son of a duke? Even if he is a second son and now fourth in line to inherit the title. And you cannot bring yourself to pass up the opportunity?”
“No, my lord. Because I love my family. I am ruined, which means I have ruined my sisters’ chances to make decent matches. I would prefer never to marry, but marriage to you is the only way I can protect them.”
“I see,” he said after several moments.
“I hope you do,” she answered as confidently as she could. “My regret is that you were caught in this.” She hesitated, then asked the question that had been on her mind since he and his father had come to see her. “You now know my reason for agreeing to this marriage. What’s the reason you agreed to marry me?”
He answered with an unenthusiastic shrug. “Money. My father tired of my reckless behavior and threatened to cut me off financially unless I changed my ways. One of his demands was that I take a wife. And you, my lady, were his choice.”
“I see,” Rachael said. She knew it must have been something like that. Knew it wasn’t that he’d been ordered to select a wife and she’d been his choice.
She wanted to lower her gaze, but didn’t. Let him study her. Even though the longer he evaluated her, the more he seemed able to see through her. His evaluation made her very uncomfortable.
“Which brings us back to your original point.” He turned to focus his gaze back out the window. “Where are we going to spend our first night?”
“I will leave that decision to you, my lord. Your father has been gracious enough to gift us with a town house. Perhaps it would be best if we spent the night there. In separate rooms, of course. To spend our wedding night anywhere else might cause talk, and the fact that you married me has already given the gossip mills enough to talk about.”
“Very well,” he said without turning. “And the other topics you assumed I wanted to discuss?”
“I believe those can wait until tomorrow, my lord. Unless you have something in particular you’d like to ask me?”
He turned. “And what would that be, my lady?”
Rachael clutched her hands even tighter. “Perhaps you’d like to know the name of the man who ruined me?”
His surprise was evident. Also his fury. His eyes smoldered with anger. When he spoke, his voice confirmed his ire. “No, my lady. That is one question I never want answered.”
She nodded. “Good. Because that is a question I cannot answer.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The London town house his father had given him as a wedding gift was eerily quiet after the hours he’d spent celebrating his wedding at the Earl of Kendrick’s town house. His bride had gone upstairs when they’d arrived pleading exhaustion after the tiring day. He didn’t blame her for escaping, but he doubted exhaustion was the only reason she had retired and he had not. He doubted she would get any more sleep than he would.
Ben poured a generous amount of brandy into a snifter and lifted it to his lips. He’d had enough liquor for the day, but for some reason, the amount he consumed didn’t dull the magnitude of the step he’d taken. Nor did it erase the questions nagging him. Questions that had only increased after talking to her. She’d anticipated his questions as if she could read his thoughts.
He’d intended to make his position clear earlier when they’d talked. Instead, she’d taken the lead in both asking the questions, and telling him how she anticipated he wanted their marriage to be.
And she’d been correct. It was as if she knew his main concerns and understood the reasons he felt as he did. As if she was preparing to bargain with him. A parlay of give and take, where she would be successful in getting something she wanted in exchange for him receiving something he wanted.
He thought of the different paths their marriage could take. He’d taken a wife. That was far different from purchasing a horse. He wouldn’t have the option of trading her in if she didn’t suit him. Nor would he have the option of ignoring her as if she didn’t exist. That wasn’t how he envisioned his marriage. It wasn’t how he wanted his life to be. Nor could he be intentionally cruel to her because she’d been forced into this marriage, just as he had. He’d made a bargain he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.
He pushed himself away from the desk in the study and rose to his feet. He paced from one side of the room to the other in long, angry strides. The first answer he needed to find was, what kind of marriage did he intend to have?
He thought of his mother and father’s marriage. If he’d been asked to describe their relationship a year ago, he’d have said their marriage was ideal. They both seemed to care for each other with an equal amount of admiration and respect. Perhaps they didn’t behave the same way that star-crossed lovers reacted to one another, but Ben never doubted that each cared for the other. Until he discovered that his mother was a murderer. That she was incapable of caring for anyone but herself. That she’d been obsessed with becoming the Duchess of Townsend and had murdered his father’s first wife to become his duchess. That she was determined that her Ben would be the next Duke of Townsend, and had attempted to murder his brother Gideon so Ben could be the next duke.
How did he think his new wife would react if she discovered that family secret? That she’d married the son of a murderer.
He’d never thought he’d be forced to marry. Never thought he’d be in this position. But here he was. With a wife he didn’t know. A future that was as unclear as navigating his way in a London fog. And a secret that would surely cause his wife to run away from him shrieking in terror.
If only his father hadn’t taken the decision to marry out of his hands. If only his father had given him another chance to prove that he could mend his ways. Except Ben doubted that would have made a difference. He was still too angry at what his mother had done to become what his father wanted him to be—someone he could be proud of.
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swallow. A part of him wanted to be the son his father expected him to be. A part of him wanted to prove to his father that he was nothing like his mother. That he could be as honorable and respected as his father was. But more than anything, he wanted his father to know that he could be a son he could be proud of.
That brought him back to the question of what husband did he intend to be? What kind of marriage did he intend to have?
Did he want a marriage where he and his wife remained distant worlds apart? Where his wife lived her life, and he lived his, separate from each other? Where she had her circle of friends and he had his?
Or did he want to give their marriage a chance at succeeding? Did he want to at least give Society the appearance of compatibility and mutual friendship between his wife and himself? Although Society would never believe theirs was a love match, did he at least want to give them the impression that he and his wife were well-suited to each other?
Ben knew that was what he wanted. He didn’t want his marriage to be the topic of gossip. He couldn’t stand to think that he and his wife would be the objects of jokes. Or that he and his wife would be pitied by the few couples he knew who had married for love.
It was already too late to deny that he’d been forced into a marriage that wasn’t his idea. All of Society no doubt knew he had been. But it wasn’t too late to let Society become accustomed to seeing the two of them together. To show them that they intended to make their marriage work. Who knew, perhaps one day Society might even believe the match their fathers made had been a good one.
He could only hope.
It was suddenly important that his wife know how he intended to proceed with their marriage. What he expected from her.
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br /> He put down his glass and left the room. He crossed the foyer and climbed the stairs with determination in his steps. When he reached the rooms that were his wife’s, he knocked.
She didn’t answer at first, and he thought perhaps he had mistaken how exhausted she was and she had fallen asleep. He rapped again, and this time she answered. He turned the knob and opened the door.
He stepped inside the room and looked toward the bed. It was empty. He searched the room and found her in a chair close to the window.
“I’d like to speak with you,” he said, crossing the room. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. We might as well talk. It’s obvious that neither of us can sleep.”
He stepped closer. He didn’t sit. He hadn’t come to visit but to issue his demands. To set some things straight. He could hardly do that while sitting on the same level with her.
She sat in a roomy wing chair with her feet tucked beneath her and a cover wrapped around her. Her long dark hair was loose, and cascaded around her shoulders.
The sight of it glimmering in the lamplight was intoxicating. For a moment, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through the thick, rich strands that flowed like sheets of the finest silk. But of course that was ridiculous. He had no feelings for her, and no doubt never would.
But something about her sitting there tugged at a heart he wasn’t sure was alive enough to feel such tenderness. She looked younger sitting in the lamplight. More fragile. Less sure of herself. Completely alone.
He dismissed the tug inside his chest and concentrated on the reason he’d come. “I have thought of how I intend for us to proceed with our future.”
“Have you, my lord,” she said softly. She straightened in her chair. She held herself erect, as if he was a judge, and she a prisoner about to be sentenced for her crimes.
“I noticed you invited a few of your friends to our wedding today.”
A frown creased her forehead. “And I noticed that you invited none of yours. Do our observations have a point?”