The Bargain Bride

by Metzger, Barbara

  She did not understand, and he’d left without so much as trying to change her stubborn, thick-skulled sense of righteousness. Quite simply, a man had to be in charge or he was no man. Why, after a mere two nights of lovemaking, his innocent bride liked to be on top!

  He had to smile, despite the road dust getting in his mouth. His wife was a strong-willed woman, and West told himself he admired that, but damn, he could not give up all he had worked for. He’d be nobody, nobody he respected, anyway, if he let her and her money rule his life. He might as well be her kept man, her hired escort, her underling in every sense of the word.

  When his father and brother died, leaving him with debts, West had worked and fought and schemed to make something of Westfield, of himself. He’d given up soldiering, where he was respected and rising in command, to be a better viscount than his predecessors, to take better care of his people and the land they all called home. He could not give up the ground he’d gained. Besides, Penny had no respect for the idle aristocracy. So why, knowing he was working, earning his own living, was she upset when he honored his commitments, nurtured his investments, cared for the living creatures who depended on him, the same as her family depended on her?

  His horse pounded down the road, while his thoughts pounded in his head. The mount was fresh, good until the next inn. His thoughts were not, his mood growing blacker and bleaker with every mile.

  Penny would do fine in London society without him, whatever her fears. Her money and his title could sway all but the highest sticklers, but even those dragons would be won over by Penny’s own personality and inner decency. She’d quickly learn that she did not require him at her side night and day. He told himself that was good, that he was glad, but, gads, what if she did not want him back?

  She could insist on separate quarters, separate lives. With his title, he could not afford a scandal. With her money, she could afford as many houses as she wanted, without him in them. Damn.

  At least he was certain she liked his lovemaking. No polite endurance for his Penny, no pretending, oh, no. Her enthusiasm for the sport was a surprise and a delight, but was that enough to keep her at his side? She never forgot the circumstances of their marriage, that he’d had to be forced into it, after years of avoidance and abandoning her. Jupiter, he half expected her to cry out “thirteen years” instead of “there, touch me there.”

  Well, he had every right to be equally as angry. He’d been traded away for his connections, hadn’t he? His older brother was expected to make the dynastic match, the grand union of two titled, propertied families. West had been the second son, meant to bring money back to the family coffers. If he’d had the choice, he’d have stayed a soldier, stayed a bachelor, stayed in the country with his horses. Now all he wanted to do was stay close to Penny. Damn, again.

  Tick. He did not understand. Tock. Maybe he would if she told him she loved him, but a woman couldn’t be the first to say the words. West had to know she adored him, because she wanted him so badly, every second. But what if he was so irritated by her carping, he never came back? What if sex and the marriage vows he’d never wanted were the only things binding him to her?

  Penny knew West could find another woman, a different one for each night of the week if he wished. She’d seen how females from seventeen to seventy looked at him with hunger in their eyes. She could feel it burning in hers every time he entered a room.

  Besides, he’d only say that love and lovemaking were two separate things, although Penny could not imagine wanting any other man but West. Men were different, and dense.

  Beyond sex, West had enough funds now that he did not have to return her dowry or pay for repairs to his house. He might even have his heir on the way. It was too soon to tell, but not for lack of trying. He did not need her for anything else. To welcome guests? To pick wallpaper? Select menus? His butler and housekeeper could do the jobs, and better than Penny, most likely. He’d never seen the need for a hostess before. What if he decided he did not need one now, especially a clinging, distempered crone? He could decide to stay in the country with his stables.

  She was a fool. Penny bit her lip, remembering their argument. He’d have gone no matter what she said, and she knew that. If her love wasn’t enough to keep him, nothing was. She wondered now whether her love was enough to bring him back.

  She clenched the sheets in her hands, worrying that she’d given him a disgust of her. Then she dropped the sheets, reminded of poor Penelope weaving her cloth for Odysseus. That seemed to be the cursed role fate had dealt Penny, waiting for West, but she did not have half of Penelope’s patience, no matter how close their names or their long waits. Weave an endless winding-sheet like a faithful little wife? Penny would wind his innards into India ink, as soon as she held him in her arms for infinity.

  Clip. She did not understand. Clop. He ought to be shot for not telling her, but a man couldn’t be the one to say the words first, and not during sex for the first time. She’d think that was only his prick talking.

  So he’d swallowed the ache and promised to return. His last words were a plea that she trust him. Why should she? He’d said he’d be at her elbow during the coming social season, and here he was, in the saddle. He’d sworn to honor his marriage vows, but his betrothal behavior spoke against him. Knowing Penny, she’d worry that he was going to tup every barmaid between London and Land’s End. She’d fret he was gone forever, if she cared at all.

  Damn, he should have told her he couldn’t want another woman, not with her image so indelible in his mind, dimpled knee to pointed chin, funny pink toes to tousled gold curls, and every soft, silky inch between. He hadn’t known for himself, hadn’t comprehended the contentment, the pleasure, of having one woman, his woman. The idea that she might be carrying his babe was a joy like none in his life. The notion was more exciting than three mares foaling perfectly at once, more thrilling than one of his horses winning the steeplechase. Not that Penny would like the comparisons. She was not fond of horses, it appeared. Still, she seemed to enjoy the bliss of trying to make a baby well enough, well enough that he’d delayed leaving for an hour, which meant he’d be an hour later returning from what he had to do.

  He should have told her he’d hurry, because he wanted only to come back to her arms. Promises and sweet words were easy to say, though, especially during sex, but only time would prove them. How long did trust take to build? Lud, he hoped faster than rebuilding a stable and paddocks. The poets said love could come suddenly or grow gradually, but that tender emotion was not enough. Without trust and respect, West believed, love would shrivel and die.

  He urged the horse faster. He had no way to prove his honor, not when he was miles away. Penny did not understand that a man’s word was his bond. Women seldom did.

  Tick. He left talking about trust, the dastard, not of love. What, did he think she would raise her skirts for the next rake she met? One was enough, she swore, for any woman. Furthermore, just because she’d succumbed to his practiced charms did not mean she was vulnerable to any passing fancy. She was a virtuous woman, by all that was holy, and he should have known that. He would have trusted her if he loved her. No one could have one without the other.

  The gudgeon did trust her to ready his house, despite her threats to turn it into a seraglio, for all that was worth. She would live in his stupid stable to be with him. He did not understand. Men seldom did.

  Clop. He’d be thinking of her every second, building their future, while she was picking linens and lace.

  Sigh. He did not understand.

  Sigh. She did not understand.

  More than miles separated them.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Young Lord A.’s parents actually gave him the choice of three women to be his bride. One was more beautiful, one was more wealthy, one was more good-natured. He chose the one with the biggest breasts.

  —By Arrangement, a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber

  West was coming back. He
had to be. If Penny truly believed he wasn’t, she’d pack up all her belongings, her grandfather, and his dog, move back to Little Falls, and send Sir Gaspar and his second family to Satan. No, if she believed West really had left her, Penny decided, she’d ride after him, a pistol in one hand, a butcher knife in the other, and homicide in her heart.

  Since he was going to return, Penny was going to be a good wife. She might have been a bothersome bride, but she was determined to be a perfect partner in the marriage. To that end, she spent a great deal of time spending a great deal of her father’s money.

  Her clothes came first. West liked her in pretty colors, in revealing gowns, as fashionable as other peers’ wives. She took the unpacked yard goods to Madame Journet, who agreed the rainbow shot silk was perfect for Penny’s first ball as hostess. She also agreed that the Entwhistle misses had to wear white, but she appeased them all with rosebud embroidery on Amelia’s gown, and extra flounces on Mavis’s. Since the charges were going on Penny’s account, and since she could not step a foot inside Madame Journet’s exclusive establishment without Persephone, Lady Goldwaite could not argue. In fact, she decided to have a nap instead of going along for the boring fittings where no one listened to her opinion anyway.

  While Penny had the girls in tow, without their mother, she took them to the lending library, where Amelia was in heaven, and Mavis flirted with the clerk. She also took them on a few of the morning calls to Lady Bainbridge’s friends and other ladies who had extended invitations, especially those with young daughters or sisters or cousins being presented this Season. Let her stepsisters see how proper females behaved, Penny planned, only to watch the other misses their ages act just as foolishly, some with the same giggles, some with the same shyness, some with less intelligence than an insect.

  Lady Bainbridge assured Penny that she had never been so silly, thank goodness.

  She was silly enough, however, to suffer stunned stupidity and outright jealousy when one of the other guests happened to be a tall, voluptuous beauty dressed all in green from the feathers in her red hair to the tips of her green-dyed slippers. Colorful indeed. Penny knew the woman’s identity well before Lady Bainbridge tried to hustle her away, well before the embarrassed hostess had to introduce West’s wife to Lady Greenlea, his former mistress. Somehow Penny made the polite responses, while repeating to herself: “Former mistress. Former.” Well, she decided, she had every right to be furious. Here she was, enduring the sly smirk of a known seductress, while West, the cad, was playing at gentleman horse breeder.

  Next on Penny’s list of priorities was the house; she took her anger out there.

  She deserved an orderly, tastefully decorated residence, comfortable but with the elegance her new position commanded.

  She hired maids and footmen to clean the town house from top to bottom, throwing out all the useless trash, Constance’s castoffs, and undesirable accumulations, like her brother-in-law.

  Penny and Lady Bainbridge returned from a shopping excursion that afternoon under a mountain of parcels. Lady Bainbridge made her way up the stairs to direct the burdened footmen, while Penny carried the extra invitations from the print shop toward the library, where she kept her lists of acceptances to the ball and the few refusals. Before she reached the library, however, she heard a crash.

  The butler was assigning the grooms to unload the carriage, and the footmen were busy, so Penny traced the sound herself, aided by raucous laughter, applause, and shattering glass.

  She hadn’t touched the billiard room yet, except to see it dusted and the floor polished. Now, still angry over West’s past, no matter how irrational she knew such emotion to be, she decided to sweep the dark, gloomy room clean. “Out!” she shouted at Nicky and his friends, who were lolling in chairs, draped over the green baize table, leaning against the walls. They were swaying on their feet, swearing, singing bawdy tunes, and behaving like the naughty little boys they were too old to be.

  Worse, they were swilling her grandfather’s finest brandy. She recognized the bottles she’d packed so carefully. “How could you?” she demanded, grabbing the bottle from the inebriated lout who was trying to pour from it into crystal glasses most likely older than he was.

  “Best I’ve had in a dog’s years,” the dolt replied with a foolish grin.

  Speaking of dogs, George was lapping brandy off the floor . . . which was littered with plates of food, articles of clothing, betting receipts, racing forms—and a silk stocking. Penny picked Nicky out of the cluster of clunches and pointed at him. Lightning should have bolted from her fingertip; she was that angry. “How dare you treat your brother’s house like a . . . a . . .”

  “Gentlemen’s club?” one of the young men in his shirtsleeves offered helpfully. “Though they ain’t as much fun.”

  Penny glared at him until he reached for his coat and neckcloth.

  Nicky stepped forward, over a broken plate. “M’ brother said I was to stick close to home.”

  “To be the man of the house, not the town drunk.”

  “Here, now,” Nicky told her, “I’m not castaway, just a trifle on the go.”

  “Then go. And take all your disreputable friends. I will not have such goings-on in my house, no matter what your brother might have put up with in the past.”

  Nicky laughed. “Put up with? West was the worst of the lot.”

  Two of his friends chuckled nervously, looking from Penny to Nicky, wondering if they should bolt for the door or defend their mate.

  Another nodded and waved a cue stick. “Good old West would be right here, only he’d be winning.”

  “Well, he is not here now, and this is the establishment of a gentleman and his lady. If you do not respect him, then you shall respect me.” She grabbed the cue stick from his limp fingers and snapped it across her knee.

  The billiard player gulped and bowed. “Charmed, Lady Westfield.”

  Penny had already turned to another of the young sots. “And put that bottle down before you break anything else. My grandpapa collected those vintages himself at great expense.”

  “And never saw an excise label or I miss my guess,” Nicky said, removing the decanter from his friend’s hand and studying it through eyes that struggled to focus.

  Then someone coughed. Penny looked into the dark corner. “Grandpapa?”

  “I sent for the bottles myself, Penny. No need to scold the lads.”

  Grandpapa?With a billiard cue in his hand? Penny had to clutch the corner of the billiard table.

  Mr. Littleton shrugged. “West said to make myself at home. You said to enjoy myself in London.”

  “I thought you would like to spend time with your old friends, not these young jackanapes.” Who were stealthily creeping out the door, waistcoats and fob watches dangling from their uncertain grasps.

  “I tried,” Penny’s grandfather said. “Caswell is as hard of hearing as I am of seeing. Janeaway can’t remember either of our names. Bolton has no teeth, and Ffolkes is in a wheeled chair, pushed by some witch with a wart on her nose. These lads are a great deal more fun.”

  “Fun? Letting them drink and wager?”

  “Well, they were mostly betting on if I could hit the balls. A few did go in the pockets!” He brandished several pound notes from his pocket. “This’ll help pay for the china and the glass. I missed a couple.”

  “A couple?” A mirror was cracked, and the wood paneling had round indentations here and there. So did the ceiling. “You are as cork-brained as they are, without the excuse of being young.”

  “But I felt young, for a bit. And what is the point of saving the wine stock? I am not going to live forever, and wouldn’t want to if I could. I can’t drink it all myself, so why not share with youngsters who can still enjoy life?”

  Penny had no answer. If the silly cubs made her grandfather happier, she could not complain. She could, however, have a few words with her brother-in-law, who was edging out the door.

  “Don’t you have anything
better to do with your days?” she demanded.

  He smiled, trying to look as assured as his older brother, and failing. “I am a viscount’s son, you know. I am supposed to be a fribble.”

  “By whose law?”

  “Why, all the chaps know the way of things.” He waved his hand around, then looked surprised that his chums had deserted him.

  “You, sir, are a wastrel.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Then parasite, leech, hanger-on.”

  “Here, now. I ain’t—”

  “Your brother is working himself to flinders, flying across the country to protect his income, while you do nothing but spend his money and wreck his house. Well, sir, no more. He left me in charge, and he left you to help. You will help me get the rest of my books onto the library shelves, and this evening you will escort me and my stepsisters to a waltz party for young ladies. Lady Gossage said she needs extra gentlemen. Too bad your cowardly friends have already left.”

  Nicky turned green, and not from the fine brandy. “Not a dancing party! I’ll find a job. I’ll polish the silver. I’ll catalog the entire book room.”

  “Be ready at nine.”

  Nicky wasted a pleading look at Mr. Littleton, then said, “Is the woman always so cruel, sir?”