Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  Instead of his fantasy maiden, he was wed to a sharp-tongued, ill-tempered shrew who was determined to make his life a misery. Even worse, while he had kept to his vow of faithfulness, Victoria refused to allow him the pleasure of his marital bed. There had been a few times over the past days when he wondered why he bothered. Victoria did not love him. She did not even particularly like him. She could not be hurt if he decided to take a mistress.

  And heaven above knew that short of a biblical miracle, there was no hope for children to be disappointed in his behavior. But as swiftly as the treacherous thoughts would enter his mind, he thrust them aside. The brutal truth was that he did not desire another woman.

  Even though he had barely been allowed to taste the tempting sweetness of his wife’s passion, it had been enough to stir to life an aching need. The satin softness of her skin, the warm scent of lilacs, and the ready heat of her lips lingered in his mind with a maddening tenacity. He could not close his eyes at night without dreaming of holding her in his arms. To simply watch her cross a room was enough to grip him with a stark hunger.

  The knowledge was as disturbing as it was unexpected.

  Never before had he been plagued by such frustrated desire. He did not seduce innocents or those women who preferred to play coy games of seduction. He was accustomed to women who readily pursued him, women who were anxious to fulfill their mutual passions. Not one of those women had ever made him pace the floor during the long night or battle the constant need to seek out her company simply for the pleasure of hearing her voice.

  It was little wonder he took such delight in baiting her. He would not be the only one in torment.

  With a shake of his head at his decidedly childish thoughts, Claredon entered the house and made his way to his chambers.

  As always, his valet was awaiting his return. With swift efficiency, Claredon discovered himself bathed and properly attired in a dark blue coat and ivory waistcoat.

  Sending the servant from the room, he tied his cravat into a precise knot and was debating between the ruby or diamond stickpins when there was a sharp rap upon his door. With a faint frown, he turned from the dressing table. “Enter.”

  There was a brief pause before the door was at last pushed open. Astonishingly, his wife stepped into his room.

  Against his will, his heart trembled at her presence.

  It was not just her beauty—although there was no denying she was lovely, with those thick titian curls and eyes the color of finest emeralds. It was more the power of her spirit and elegant strength of her tall form.

  This was a woman who would face the world with her chin held high, regardless of the adversity she might face. And heaven help anyone foolish enough to try and stand in her way.

  She colored faintly as his gaze compulsively lowered to appreciate the moss green silk gown that gave such a tempting hint of the womanly curves beneath. Her chin abruptly jutted in the air as she regarded him as if he had just crawled from beneath a moldy rock. “I must speak with you,” she stated in sharp tones.

  Inwardly bristling at her odious habit of treating him as a particularly loathsome creature, Claredon leaned against the dressing table and offered her a taunting smile. “Well, well, my dear, you have sought me out for the second time in one day. I begin to feel quite irresistibly attractive.”

  Her aquiline nose flared. “You know quite well why I am here.”

  “To tell the truth, I haven’t the least notion,” he drawled, his smile widening. “Dare I hope it is with the intention of seducing me?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “A pity.” He lazily surveyed the enticing plunge of her neckline. “I have been thinking all day how ex traordinarily soft your skin felt beneath my fingers. As soft as I remember from our night together.”

  She glared at him, but she could not disguise the revealing flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck.

  Claredon barely resisted the maddening urge to press his lips to that pulse.

  “Would you please halt your baiting of me?”

  “I am not baiting you. I am merely revealing my thoughts during the long afternoon. Does it disturb you to know that I desire my wife?”

  Her color deepened. “It disturbs me to know you desire every woman who crosses your path.”

  “Oh, not every woman,” he denied, not at all displeased by the sharp edge in her tone. Could it be she was just a tad jealous of these mythical other women? “And none with the intensity that I desire you.”

  “I never wished you to desire me.”

  His lips twisted, not above a bit of jealousy himself. It was never far from his mind that his wife had been on the point of eloping with a spineless, witless fool when they had encountered one another. “No, of course not. You prefer passionless gentlemen who are more in need of a mother than a wife.”

  Her eyes widened. “That is a horrid thing to say.”

  “It is nothing more than the truth,” he retorted without apology. “You treated poor Mr. Stice more as a sickly child than a potential lover.”

  “What do you know of how I treated Thomas?”

  Claredon abruptly paused. What did he know? Certainly the limited London Society ensured that they were occasionally attending the same function, and she was striking enough to have demanded more than a glance or two. Still, he had not realized until this moment just how often his gaze must have strayed in her direction.

  Uncomfortable with the realization, he gave a restless shrug. “He trailed behind you like a cowering pup.”

  “You . . .” Her hands clenched at her side as if battling the urge to blacken his eye. “You of all people have no right to judge Thomas. At least he could make a binding commitment to another, something you are incapable of.”

  He lifted his dark brows. “Have you gone mad? I have made the most irrevocable commitment possible. Or have you forgotten that I was the one to stand before the altar beside you, not your precious Thomas?”

  Her face abruptly paled. “Dear God, how could I forget?”

  A sharp annoyance raced through him. How many maidens would have given anything to wed him? How many would be dancing a jig at such good fortune? Instead, Victoria still mourned the pathetic wretch who could not even travel to the proper posting inn.

  “It is time to forget him, Victoria. Whatever evil fate brought us together in that posting inn has ensured that we are bound together for eternity.”

  “Forgive me, but, unlike you, I do not easily forget those I care about.”

  He slowly straightened. He would endure many things, but no one could expect him to ignore being considered an inferior specimen to the likes of Mr. Thomas Stice. She was his wife. She owned him her loyalty, if nothing else. “Take care, Victoria. I have endured enough of your insults.”

  She briefly faltered at the lethal edge in his tone, then predictably she squared her shoulders in defiance. “Do you deny that you were an incurable rake?”

  “I admit that I have always possessed a full appreciation for women.”

  Her features hardened with distaste. “An appreciation that would fade as swiftly as it began. I will not be one more of a very large collection.”

  “I wonder why it is you continue to dredge up my less than pure past with such monotonous regularity.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you afraid you might forget that I am a rake and a libertine?”

  “Never.”

  “That is a considerable length of time, my precious.” Claredon moved deliberately forward, not halting until the warm scent of lilacs surrounded him. “Especially when you have requested that I play the role of doting husband.”

  The delicious pulse began to flutter again. “That is precisely what I wished to discuss with you.”

  “Am I not being attentive enough?” he murmured, lifting his hand to toy absently with a titian curl that lay upon her cheek. “Forgive me, but I had promised my steward I would ensure the wagon was repaired, as well as overseeing the work on the bridge. I assure you I
can offer my undivided attention from this evening onward. Indeed, I am determined to be at your side night and day.” He heard her breath catch, sending a feather of excitement curling through his stomach.

  “You are being absurd,” she protested.

  “Am I? I thought you were the one who was desperate to convince Vicar Humbly we are madly in love.”

  Her tongue peeked out to wet her dry lips, and his excitement became more pronounced. And considerably more urgent. Blast! What he wouldn’t give to press her against the door and explore her honeyed temptation.

  “I requested that you be civil, not make a cake of yourself.”

  “I apologize.” His hand restlessly moved to stroke the line of her cheek. He considered daring his luck to steal a kiss, only to conclude he was rather fond of his nose the way it was. “Having seven sisters married, I presumed that all bridegrooms behaved like mooncalves. Certainly my brothers-in-law regularly make perfect twits of themselves.”

  “Humbly is well aware that ours was not a normal courtship. It will be enough merely to be polite to one another.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Humbly was obviously concerned enough to travel a considerable distance to visit you. I do not believe he will be reassured by cool civility between us.”

  She paused as if grudgingly considering his logic. Very grudgingly, he wryly conceded as her lips thinned in frustration.

  “Perhaps there should be a certain amount of warmth.”

  He gave a click of his tongue, his fingers teasing her tight lips. “A considerable amount of warmth, if you do not wish Humbly to return to Surrey with word that he made a dreadful mistake in officiating our wedding. Gentlemen such as the vicar are incurably romantic by nature. Regardless of our reasons for a hasty marriage, he will desire to see us giddy with happiness.”

  She took a sharp step backward, only to come up against the door. “You have made your point, Claredon. That does not, however, give you leave to . . .”

  “Yes?” he prompted with a wicked smile.

  “Maul me.”

  He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I hardly consider a few light caresses and a brief kiss as mauling you.”

  Her emerald eyes flashed at his taunting words. “You do not fool me. This is merely an opportunity to punish me for not allowing you into my bed.”

  “Now you are the one being absurd, Victoria.”

  “Really?”

  “I have no desire to punish you.” He offered her the arrogant smile he knew set her teeth on edge. “Not when I know with all certainty that it is only a matter of time before you welcome me to your bed. It is as inevitable as the sun rising tomorrow.”

  She sucked in an audible breath. “You must be out of your senses.”

  His gaze deliberately lowered to the lush promise of her lips. “You have not forgotten how you shivered beneath my touch any more than I have. I had barely kissed you when you were pleading for more.”

  She shivered at the undeniable truth in his words. “I was asleep,” she fiercely retorted.

  “And dreaming of Mr. Stice?”

  “I . . . yes.”

  “Liar,” he mocked. “Had he been in your thoughts, you never would have melted with such obvious delight”

  “How dare you?”

  “I dare because I know quite well that had you responded to the pudding-faced fool with such trembling eagerness, you would not be the innocent maiden you are today.”

  She flushed, making Claredon wonder if it were from outrage or guilt. “You are horrid.”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Horrid or not, you desire me. And eventually that desire will overcome your ridiculous pride.”

  She gave a rather desperate shake of her head. “When cows learn to waltz.”

  Claredon chuckled, cupping her chin in a firm grasp. “I hear the orchestra tuning up.”

  * * *

  If Victoria had scoured England from one end to another, she could not have discovered a more arrogant, more annoying, more . . . obnoxious gentleman to wed than Lord Claredon.

  Nearly four hours after fleeing from her husband’s chambers, she was still battling her raw nerves.

  It was difficult enough to struggle with her renegade awareness of Claredon. Now, with the knowledge he was fully conscious of that awareness, she longed to sink beneath the floorboards.

  Even worse was the sudden realization that far from being reconciled to her declaration she would never truly be his wife, he had been toying with her like a cat with a hopeless mouse, merely biding his time until her pride faltered and she begged to have him in her bed.

  Victoria shuddered, wishing she could be certain such a humiliating fate was not possible. Unfortunately, she was far too honest with herself to turn a blind eye to the danger. At least she had been granted a brief reprieve, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.

  After dinner, Claredon had been cornered by his steward, who had demanded a few moments of his time. Victoria had been quite happy to lead Vicar Humbly to the salon without the disturbing presence of her husband.

  Glancing across the room to where the vicar sipped his brandy with obvious appreciation, she forced her futile broodings from her mind. Such troubles would have to be put aside for now. It was more important to lay the vicar’s concerns to rest.

  “I do hope that you have settled in comfortably, Mr. Humbly,” she said in a deliberately light tone.

  “Yes, indeed. And may I say you have an artist in the kitchen? Her salmon was simply divine.”

  “Mrs. Boland is very accomplished. I believe you will also be pleased with her pastries.”

  The vicar patted his stomach, a twinkle in his sherry eyes. “Ah, you have not forgotten my love for pastries.”

  “Of course not. And I have ensured that there will be plenty of cakes and tarts to choose from.”

  He heaved a pleased sigh. “I was quite certain that I would enjoy visiting your lovely estate. Now there can be no doubt.”

  A portion of Victoria’s tension eased at the dear gentleman’s gentle humor. “Well, I do hope we can offer you more in the way of entertainment than a few trifling pastries.”

  “My dear, you do not know what you are saying,” he retorted. “You will learn that when a gentleman reaches my advanced years, attending to the needs of his stomach is quite entertainment enough.”

  “Nonsense,” she protested with a laugh. “You have always been the most inexhaustible gentleman I have ever known. I recall you sitting at the bedside of an ill villager throughout the night and yet spending the entire day visiting the local cottages and even enduring a tedious dinner with that wretched Squire Irwin without so much as a yawn.”

  Humbly gave a sad shake of his head. “Those days are past, my dear. Indeed, I shall soon be retiring to my small cottage.”

  Victoria widened her eyes in shock. “Retiring? You cannot mean to do so.”

  “Yes, and I assure you that I quite look forward to my lazy days of doing nothing more than tending to my roses.”

  Victoria found it nearly impossible to imagine the vicarage without Mr. Humbly. “But whatever will the neighborhood do without you?”

  He waved a pudgy hand, but there was a hint of gratitude upon his round countenance.

  “They will survive quite nicely, I am certain. The new vicar is quite young and anxious to set the church in order.”

  Victoria shook her head, knowing no one could ever replace this compassionate and generous man. “It will not be the same.”

  “All will be well,” he said firmly. “It is time.”

  Before Victoria could retort, the door was abruptly thrust open and Claredon entered the room. Waving a hand toward the vicar, who was struggling to rise, he moved deliberately across the carpet to settle on the sofa, far too close to Victoria’s suddenly stiff body.

  “Forgive me for taking so long,” he murmured, smoothly laying his arm along the back of the sofa and allowing his fingers t
o lightly brush her shoulder. “My steward possesses a tedious belief that I desire to be informed of the most insignificant details connected to the estate.”

  “I should think he is not far off in his belief,” the vicar murmured shrewdly.

  Claredon chuckled. “Perhaps not. I hope Victoria has kept you well entertained.”

  “But of course.”

  Cursing her foolishness in not having chosen one of the numerous chairs rather than the sofa, Victoria forced a strained smile to her lips. “Mr. Humbly was just telling me of his intention to retire. It will be a sad loss.”

  “Very kind of you, my dear, but it shall be good for the church to have a new leader,” Humbly retorted with admirable modesty. Then a rather sly glint entered his eyes. “It does not do to become mired in one path. A bit of change can be good for us all.”

  Victoria’s smile faded. “Not all change is good.”

  The vicar shrugged. “It can certainly be disconcerting, but with a little effort, and of course a willingness to seek the best in a situation, it can usually be made into a good thing.”

  “Very wise words, Mr. Humbly,” Claredon retorted, his fingers scrolling aimless patterns over Victoria’s shivering skin. “To fight against the inevitable is always a wasted effort. Far better to take advantage of what is given.”

  She turned to offer her husband a glare that warned if his fingers strayed one inch lower she would break them, vicar or no vicar. “Even if one abhors what they are given?”

  “Foolish dove,” he chided, his blue eyes hardening with silent warning. “You shall have the good vicar believing you are speaking of your own situation, which would be absurd. Would it not?”

  Aware that Humbly was indeed regarding her with a faint frown, she hurriedly sought to distract him. “Of course. Forgive me, Mr. Humbly. There have been times when the unexpected was not at all pleasant.”

  The older gentleman was swiftly contrite. “I am sorry, my dear. You speak, of course of your parents’ sudden accident. Very clumsy of me. I did not mean to remind you of such a painful incident.”

  Her gaze lowered. It was not what she had been thinking of at all, but at the mention of her parents she felt a familiar hollowness in the pit of her stomach. She missed them, even more so during this turbulent time in her life. The pain of her wrenching loss had faded with time, but was never truly forgotten. “It is in the past,” she said stiffly.