Fearless

by Lynne Connolly

  They went up the short corridor. At their approach, two immaculately attired footmen flung open the double doors of the dining room. This was not the room where the family generally took their meals. The spacious room, half-paneled in mahogany and half in red damask, with a huge mahogany table in the center was for dining in state. The table could hold fully fifty guests with all its leaves in place, which they were today. People stood when they entered, and Val took her to the head of the table.

  Turning her head to greet the other guests, Charlotte received a severe shock. Sitting at her right was her father. He gave her a tight nod and she managed to return it. She could tell nothing from his appearance, but then, she never could. Her father would insist on the correct protocol even on his deathbed. Not that she wished that fate on him. He had treated her cruelly, but she would not respond with the same behavior.

  She offered a slight smile. “Welcome,” she said.

  “Daughter.”

  That was the extent of their personal conversation. The rest was the usual comments on other members of society and political matters. However, certain remarks taught her one thing as her acute sense of reading the currents under what was actually said took over. Her father wanted the Emperors on his side. His acute awareness of the title and what he owed it had triumphed over his personal feelings, whatever they were. He was here for public show.

  That knowledge did not hurt as much as it should have, but how could it? Affection was a foreign concept to the Duke of Rochfort.

  The meal took forever. She lost count of the number of courses laid out, but she only took from four. Her appetite had gone at the first sight of her father.

  Only her experience kept her smiling and conversing, as if this were yet another normal meal. Her husband’s parents sat on the other side, but the contrast between them could not have been greater. While the marquess and his wife displayed entirely proper behavior, the private touches remained. Lord Strenshall clearly knew the dishes his wife preferred and ensured they were sent her way. Every now and then he paused to smile at her with every signal of pleasure.

  Charlotte longed for a marriage such as theirs, one where the participants loved and respected each other, where the wife did more than obey her husband or receive him between mistresses. She did not subscribe to the view that when a husband strayed, the wife was at fault. Some wives openly encouraged infidelity, for it put less pressure on them to entertain their husband’s carnal desires.

  Would she, Charlotte, feel that way? From the kisses and caresses she had exchanged with Val, she thought not, although that would save her.

  The toasts started. First the King, of course, and then the happy couple, and then the exalted guests, of which they were many. Charlotte took a bare sip at each one but privately wondered how long this would take. Then she would go to the drawing room and they would go through the tea serving. Would she ever be alone with her husband?

  The meal ended midafternoon. From where she sat, Charlotte could not see the hands of the clock on the elaborate mantel, and the chimes were consistently drowned out by the chatter. However, years of attending formal functions had given her an internal clock, and she assessed the time to be around three in the afternoon when the marchioness rose and gently indicated that the ladies would withdraw.

  To her surprise, her husband rose with her and escorted her from the room. Outside, he embraced his mother. “We’ll leave now, Mama,” he said.

  The marchioness did not appear the least disconcerted but smiled and nodded her approval. “Have a good journey.”

  “How did you persuade the old man to agree to appear?”

  Nobody needed him to explain who he meant. The marchioness gave a particularly smug smile. “He could not afford to continue his objection.”

  “Ah.”

  They had bribed him, or perhaps offered him a business proposal. At least Charlotte had the semblance of respectability for her marriage, something that seemed fadingly distant when she’d woken that morning.

  “We’re leaving?”

  Val caught her hand in the impulsive way he had. “I’m taking you away for a while. Somewhere we can be private. Unless you object?” The raised brow promised much.

  Her heart beat quickened. “Of course not.”

  “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. If you want to stay, perhaps speak more to your sister, we will wait.”

  Now she knew Sarah was well and happy, and Louisa too, Charlotte was content to leave them for a while. She shook her head. “I’m delighted to do as you ask.” More than delighted, if she told the truth.

  The part of her marriage that she anticipated with both fear and excitement loomed. Like a badly trained horse, she wanted to rush at it. She would most likely fail the jump, but she wanted it done, so that she knew what she would be contending with.

  She knew very little about what would happen next, what he would want. Her father had, naturally, never discussed the matter with her, and her aunt had as much idea as she did. Perhaps if she’d been in touch with Sarah, she could have asked her, but she did not. Sarah was there, of course, but she sat farther down the table. Louisa and Aunt Adelaide sat by their side, honored guests. Louisa smiled at everyone and behaved much better than Charlotte had expected, considering her lack of experience and limited understanding. Charlotte’s heart eased to see her beloved sister so content.

  She smiled as a maid helped her into gloves and her hat and kept smiling as her husband helped her up the steps into a sleek post chaise. The coachman touched his whip to his hat as they climbed in, and then they were off.

  “Where are we going?”

  Val frowned. “Hmm. It’s a warm day. I want you out of these.” He started work on her gloves. “We aren’t going far, only to a house I own by the river at Richmond. The journey shouldn’t take above an hour.”

  He cast her gloves aside without noting where they fell and gathered her hands in his.

  “I didn’t know you owned a house by the Thames,” she said numbly. She wanted to ask other things, but she didn’t know where to start.

  “We still have a lot to learn about one another, despite our long engagement.”

  That brought a tremulous smile to her lips. “Yes, we do.”

  “The fault was entirely mine. I did not listen to you or take notice of you.” He bit his lip.

  Charlotte had never seen him so uncertain.

  “I regarded you as a convenience, someone who allowed me to get on with my life without hindrance. After our betrothal, I could spend more time doing what I wanted to. I had fewer obligations.”

  His mouth tightened, in a way she’d seen when he was exasperated or angry. But with her?

  “I was a fool. I looked everywhere but at you.”

  She blinked. “You looked at me often enough.”

  “Not in the way I saw you the first night I kissed you.”

  “That was just after we were betrothed.” She remembered that night. Her father had held a ball in her honor, although in reality he had used it to progress a business arrangement with the Duke of Kirkburton, Val’s uncle. She understood, but the highlight of the evening for her had been when Val raised her hand to his lips and actually kissed it. Men generally kissed the air an inch or so above the skin. The contact had thrilled her.

  “Not that time.” His voice thickened. “Like this.”

  Despite the streets they were passing through, he tugged her hands so she lost her balance. He slid his arms around her and brought his lips down on hers. The broad brim of her hat caught on the upholstery behind them, but that did not stop her returning his kiss. Shocked and thrilled in equal measure, she met him, and when he opened his mouth against hers, she followed suit.

  He tasted her, licked in deep, and explored her at his leisure, occasionally teasing her tongue with the tip of his. When her hat loosened, she let it fall. He must have watched where the maid put the pins, for he drew them out without hesitation before tugging the bow under her chin und
one and letting the hat tumble to join her gloves.

  Now she could rest her head on his shoulder while he drew her into the shelter of his arms and delved deeper. He enticed her into a kiss more lascivious than anything she had experienced before. He kept his hands still, but despite that, she felt the imprint of his fingers on her breast, where they had been once before, and she shuddered with half-understood longing. As the kiss went on, her body tingled, and she yearned to get even closer to him.

  He changed the nature of his caress, gentled her, and changed the kiss of yearning into more playful, affectionate caresses, small kisses, touching his lips to her mouth, her nose and her cheeks, before returning to her mouth. “Am I forgiven?”

  “For what?” She was breathless, as if she’d run a mile.

  “For nearly losing you. For taking you for granted.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you did. You were always kind to me when we met.”

  He snorted. “My mother urged me to persevere and set a date. She never stopped, and now I know why. She has known great happiness with my father. She wanted me to experience the same thing.”

  “Happiness?”

  “You make it sound like an unattainable ideal. Has it been so bad?” He brushed his lips over her forehead.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Happiness was an aspiration, not a natural state. She had rarely known it, and treasured the few times she’d attained it.

  “You were not always happy. I shall try to change that.”

  She basked in his attention. Even if his concentration on her turned out to be ephemeral, she would enjoy every minute of it while it was hers. “I am happy enough. I never wanted for clothes or food, unlike the poor in the streets.”

  He toyed with the pendant at her throat. “Happiness is not having enough to eat. Or it should not be.” He kissed her softly. “You deserve much. I should not have turned my back on your plight for two years. I will never forgive myself for that.”

  She did not like the turn this conversation was taking. Straightening up, she folded her hands in her lap and faced him. “I was not a poor creature. I managed to create enough for my sister and myself. I even have savings—poor, I am sure, by your standards—but I made plans. When Louisa came of age, we would leave. The only reason I did not was because of her.”

  “I know. I know.” When he tried to pull her back, she resisted.

  “I am not to be pitied. I am not so unusual, either. Plenty of women in my situation put up with more, and worse.” She spread her hands, palm up. “I came to London every season. True, I provided my father with a useful hostess, but he would have brought us anyway.” Because he liked to have them under his eye, but she need not tell him that. “Did you marry me because you felt sorry for me?”

  He shook his head.

  “Because I am not a charity girl.”

  He regarded her in silence. She was forced to reach for the grips when the carriage jolted over a rut, but he caught her instead, and she found herself back in his arms.

  “You are right, of course.” He kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps I overstated my case. I have often done so. I still curse myself, thinking of what I could have missed. If Kellett had been a more admirable man, I might have released you. I agreed to do so, after all.”

  He must have felt her shudder, because he held her tighter.

  “Is it over then? Has he gone?”

  “Yes. This morning I drew blood, but that is all. Honor was satisfied.” He grunted. “I would have preferred to put an end to his existence, but then I would not have met you at the altar. I would not come to you with a man’s life on my hands.”

  “What will he do next?”

  “What can he do? We are married. He can hardly argue with that.” He paused. “He was angry, but if he has any sanity at all, he’ll let us alone now and hunt down another heiress.”

  “I’m not an heiress.”

  “You were.” He kissed her forehead. “You will probably be again. Your father has settled a considerable amount on you, and as matters stand, I doubt he will renege on that. Does it count that I married you when you were penniless?”

  She laughed. “I think it does.”

  Chapter 16

  “We’ve arrived.”

  The moment after he said that, they swung into a private drive. Charlotte caught a glance of a stuccoed exterior before the carriage blocked her view and she had to wait to see it properly. When she did, she caught her breath in delight.

  “This is exactly the kind of house I always wanted.”

  The white stucco covered a house of moderate proportions. Not a huge palace of a place or a rambling Tudor edifice, but a pilastered building of three or four stories with a Palladian-columned portico. “What is its name?”

  “I shall call it Charlotte’s Villa.”

  “Val! Be serious.”

  He laughed. “Why should I? Life would be tedious without a little levity. It’s currently called Verdant Place, which seems a foolish name, but I like it.”

  “Did you inherit it?”

  “No,” he said, as the footman opened the door and let down the steps. “I bought it.”

  Her eyes rounded as she turned to him instead of drinking in the house’s facade. “You did?”

  His chuckle warmed her. “I see more questions. What a curious woman you are, sweetheart.”

  Disdaining the steps, he leaped to the ground and helped her to descend. They stood, her hand tucked in his, and studied the house. It would have six or eight bedrooms, something of that nature, perfect for her. The grounds were well-clipped lawns, with an edging of late spring flowers. She tested the grass with the tip of her foot. “Do you plan to live here year round?”

  “That is up to you as well as me.” He watched her, still smiling.

  She liked his smile, especially when there was no trace of cynicism about it. He appeared entirely enchanted.

  “I have another house in Leicestershire, and I spend a lot of time at the family seat, too.” He tugged her hand. “Come. Let me show you inside.”

  Four columns set in a square held up the pleasant hall, and a staircase wound its way upstairs. A butler stood just inside the door and bowed low first to her and then to Val. “My lord, I have made everything ready, as you requested. Would you care for refreshment?”

  Val glanced at her. “Our journey was hardly arduous.” At Charlotte’s slight headshake, he said, “Not now, thank you, Bunson. Leave us to find our way around. I’m anxious for my wife to see the house.”

  With every room, Charlotte declared herself pleased. The house was delightful. “Anything less like a mausoleum is hard to imagine,” she said as they left the music room upstairs and walked to the rooms at the end of the sunny corridor.

  “Have you visited many mausoleums?” He paused, his hand on a doorknob.

  “I have lived in them for most of my life.”

  He opened the door. “Your father’s houses?”

  “Yes. He prefers everything placed precisely in its place. After we finished with our embroidery, or whatever we were doing, we had to take care that no trace of our activity remained when we had done. Every thread must be picked up and the work box arranged properly.”

  He paled. “Dear Lord, I would never have survived. None of my family would.”

  She had walked into the room watching him, not the contents. While the house delighted her, having Val all to herself delighted her even more. Every chance she had, she’d drunk him in, his shape, his height, and the way he talked to her alone. “We had to survive. We had no other choice. Until Sarah met Sam, and even then it took her two years to come back for us.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  He gave an awkward laugh, not one she had heard before from the assured urbane Val. “For not asking sooner about your personal circumstances. For taking too much for granted. You are a brave woman. Your father could not have been easy to live with. I knew he insisted on
formality all the time, but not that it extended so deeply into the private part of your life.”

  Suddenly shy, she looked away. “I may disappoint you. I know no other way.” It choked her to have to admit it, but it was better he knew. “There is nothing more to me. I am as you see.”

  They were in a bedroom and she was staring at the bed. The gold-colored drapery enhanced rather than hid the softness of the mattress and the silkiness of the cover. No heraldic beasts proclaimed his lineage in the head of the bed, no proud portraits of ancestors hung on the walls watching every move she made. Instead, landscapes and a conversation piece, a painting of his family decorated the Chinese paper on the walls. The tallboy and the cabinets shone with polishing and a touch of gilt, just enough to catch the sun, gleaming when she moved her head.

  “Is this…?” She could say no more. The room she had considered spacious seemed to draw in, stifling her.

  “It is. If you wish it,” he said. “I took this room for my own because of the view.”

  She hadn’t even noticed the view, but when she followed his gaze, she choked back an involuntary cry of delight. The large sash windows looked out over a swath of lawn and flower beds. Beyond them was the river. The Thames flowed along in majestic glory. A swan sailed graciously over the greenish gray water. “It’s perfect.”

  Impulsively, she turned around, but he was standing directly behind her. He caught her in his arms and gazed down at her, laughing. “Indeed you are,” he said, and bent to her lips.

  Every time he kissed her, he took her into his own world, made her helpless to resist. She opened her mouth to him when he touched her chin, and he took possession. Here, now, wrapped in him, she could not imagine anything else half so good.

  He broke away, gazing down at her, his eyes hot and wild. “I have to stop. I’m in danger of losing my resolve.”

  “What resolve?” She’d lost hers half a minute ago.

  “I meant to ensure you ate and rested before I fell on you.”