Never in her life did she ever imagine she’d end up marrying, let alone a man like Coldhurst. The idea of sharing a bed with her brother’s killer turned her stomach.
She glanced covertly up at Sebastian standing beside her. The light from the church candles glinted off his dark locks. But the glow didn’t reach his eyes. His face was hard and unsmiling. That he did not wish to marry her was humiliatingly obvious to everyone present. His younger sisters had smiled at her in a way that declared how much of a favor their brother was doing her, and her family. Her face had flushed with humiliation.
When it came to declaring her vows, she did so with quiet determination. She agreed to love, honor, and obey the man standing tense beside her. Her family—mother, sisters, and brothers—would be safe. She would be safe.
When he took her hand to place a ring on her finger, a sear of heat raced up her arm and for one terrifying moment she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Suddenly, marrying a man like Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, didn’t feel safe at all. Her heart pounded and her head swam. The idea of handing her body into his keeping sent giant waves of terror ricocheting through her. Lizzy had told her what Dunmire had done to her, and how much it had hurt.
Her back straightened. She wanted a family, children of her own. She had to lie with Coldhurst to achieve that goal. She could put up with any amount of pain if the coupling produced a child.
With an unsteady breath, Beatrice studied the immaculately groomed fingers of the large hand clasping her own, and thought about this man’s reputation as England’s most accomplished lover. If it hurt so much, why did women crave entrance to his bed? Perhaps, with Coldhurst, it would not be so painful.
The ceremony over, they signed the registry and walked slowly back down the aisle.
“You wear your martyrdom well. I’ve married you, not disgraced you. You could try to appear, if not happy, at least thankful,” he growled beside her.
Sebastian tried not to look at Beatrice as they walked together. He couldn’t quite believe he had married the woman beside him. He could feel a line of sweat dripping down his back. This was not the woman he had met down at the dock. In place of the seemingly dull and slightly unattractive woman, Beatrice had turned into a captivating blushing bride.
He understood her strength of character. It took a brave woman to approach him with her proposition of marriage. He admired her forthrightness, as well as her courage. What he had not seen yesterday, under the layers of Thames mud, was a woman whose beauty, while understated, was certainly there for a man of discriminating tastes to discover.
When he’d watched her enter the church, he had almost stopped the wedding. She’d been nervously licking her lips, the action immediately drawing his attention to the lushness of her mouth. Her deep green eyes, inadequately hiding her fear, were luminous enough to drown in, while the hair that had seemed only a dull brown yesterday was the lustrous color of brandy, flecked through with shimmering gold and the russets of autumn.
When he’d placed a ring on her finger, she’d shivered. Not with fear. When he’d looked in her eyes, there was awareness in her gaze, a sexual awakening that indicated she too had felt the attraction between them.
How he’d ever thought her plain, he didn’t know. He did not wish to feel this flare of heated desire when he looked at his wife.
Now his thoughts were in a strange turmoil.
What the devil had gotten into him? Beatrice had every right to blame him for Doogie’s death, but the last thing he needed just now was a wife to complicate his life. Certainly not a woman they called Henpeck Hennessey. His wife; he swallowed back his choking fear at the word. Beatrice was the sorrow-filled, antagonistic elder sister of the man he had killed in a duel. God help him.
Yet he’d had every chance to refuse her proposal. And he had been certain she would find the idea of being married to a man like him repulsive. He glanced sideways, and to his horror he had to confess intense pleasure at the prospect of taking this woman to bed. That’s what scared him. He was supposed to feel nothing for his bride. That had been his plan since boyhood.
Sebastian gave his head a slight shake, hoping to clear the bemusement. How ironic that his plan should backfire on him so thoroughly. He couldn’t remember the last time his pulse raced at the mere thought of having a woman in his arms. Yet Beatrice Hennessey, the spinster who had been sitting on the shelf for five long years, had his heart pounding like a thoroughbred’s after a race.
“Forever,” he murmured to himself. Dread began to invade and crawl over his body.
“My lord?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing.” He studied her with a slow possessive gaze.
It had been an eternity since a woman had made him this excited. He had tasted the charms of the world’s most beautiful women, and no one had intrigued him quite the way this composed woman, who was now his wife, did. With her stunning combination of vulnerability, defiance, and undisguised beauty, the hunger she aroused in him arose effortlessly.
Briefly he shut his eyes, remembering the way she’d looked with garments soaked and clinging to her skin, her ripe breasts exposed to his view … and his own wild reaction grew. The simple glance as she lay on the deck of his ship had inflamed him beyond reason. He should have taken that as a warning but thought it had been because of his enforced lack of female company on the voyage home.
He should have walked away from her outrageous proposal. Now, just the touch of her tiny hand on his arm had his blood surging thick and hot.
Sebastian stiffened as heated images of her flickered before his mind’s eye. What would she look like naked, her glossy hair spread across his bed? He imagined her lush and wanton, arching against him as he explored the mysteries of her silken body …
The sensual image set him on fire.
He feared this unexpected arousal. It had been weeks since he had enjoyed a woman, what with his trip back from Jamaica. He wasn’t accustomed to abstinence. His beautiful Jamaican housekeeper had been the last warm body in his bed, in a long line of warm bodies, and he had been forced to abandon her when he returned to England.
He had left her the house in Jamaica. He knew she would take good care of it, and he would always have a warm welcome if he ever needed to return.
Beatrice gave a small cough by his side and his thoughts again turned to what he was going to do with a wife. This wife.
His eyes briefly glanced at her face. Her eyes reflected fear and awe at the position she found herself in. She continually ran her little pink tongue over her bottom lip, and heat flicked at his groin. Why he should find the lady so provocative, so enticing, particularly considering her obvious dislike of him, was beyond a sane man’s reasoning.
But heaven forbid, he wanted her, and up until now, he’d had no intention of really ever desiring his wife.
He had wanted an uncomplicated marriage. He had wanted a marriage in which both parties understood and agreed why they were marrying. And the reason would have nothing to do with love. He had watched his parents’ jealousy turn their house into a battleground, a war that no one was ever going to win—could win. He always knew that when he married, love would never enter the equation. What he hadn’t foreseen was that desire and passion would be part of his marriage, for he had always planned to marry a woman who was plain in looks and compliant in nature. The woman walking beside him was neither of these.
Best-laid plans …
Just then he felt a quiver in her grip on his arm. A sudden stab of conscience hit him. Though he was looking forward to having Beatrice in his bed, he knew that it would be an awkward situation for her. How would she feel having to give herself to the man who had killed her brother?
He had no intention of forcing her to share his bed. He had never forced a woman before, and he much preferred his bed partner to enjoy mutual passion. After what he had done to Doogie, he didn’t relish having to force himself on his sister. Seduction was his weapon of choice.
Her surrender was what he would focus on rather than the fact that he was now married.
He wanted her willing. He wanted her pale, perfect body, hot and wanton beneath him. He wanted to hear his name tremble on her lips. He wanted her!
And that thought frightened him to death.
When Beatrice heard Sebastian intended for them to leave the city that very day, she had assumed they would be going north to his estate near York, so that he could abandon her there and return to his life. So she was quite surprised when she heard they were going south to Dorset, to the Earl of Markham’s estate.
They were traveling in Sebastian’s well-sprung traveling coach, and she allowed herself to relax against the velvet swabs. However, several hours of enforced intimacy with Sebastian, her husband, had taken a toll on her nerves.
They had spoken little on the journey south from London. Sebastian seemed to be deep in thought and she sensed his need for silence and readily complied. What did she have to say to a man like Lord Coldhurst? It was obvious he regretted their marriage. She must be a disappointment to him. He would have had his choice of women to wed, a stunning, graceful, compliant beauty to bear his children and rule his home.
A woman so far removed from her, he couldn’t be anything but bitter.
Beatrice turned her head to observe her traveling companion. He was staring out the window at the passing landscape, engaged in his own private thoughts. Her breath hitched slightly as she regarded him closely. His handsome, noble profile had the power to make her heart flutter, reminding her once again that she was out of her element in dealing with him.
She should hate him, but for some reason, perhaps because he’d been nothing but courteous so far, she couldn’t hold on to her hate. His stunning countenance set her on edge, but she couldn’t let herself feel anything for him. He’d been perfectly clear on the terms of their marriage, and she’d agreed. She would not ask for, nor expect, more.
Did she regret her outrageous proposal? No. She had no illusions about what this marriage would be like. He would carry on his life as per usual and expect her to provide him with children and nothing else.
Part of her wanted to strike back at the man who had killed her brother, and Beatrice knew she could make this marriage a misery for him, perhaps henpeck him to death. The gossips were correct, she had henpecked her brother, but with good cause. She could do the same to Sebastian. A shiver ran over her skin. He would not find her the submissive puppet he thought her to be, but deep down inside she understood a man like Sebastian would not be as easy to control, nor as forgiving of her interference, as her brother.
She watched him with unfettered curiosity. To her surprise, Sebastian became more agitated as they drew closer to Lord Markham’s country estate. She wondered at this sudden trip and why they had to leave town so abruptly.
To gather courage, she gazed for a moment on the lush countryside outside the carriage. She hadn’t been into the country since her come-out; she’d forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful the verdant rolling fields could be. In the distance, men worked their land. For one moment she envied the simplicity of their existence. She wasn’t silly enough to romanticize their hard life, but sometimes actually working for a living seemed more honorable than marrying for money. They had a term for women who exchanged their bodies for money. Right now she hardly felt different from a well-paid courtesan.
She let the beauty of the sun-filled countryside wash away these distressing thoughts. The large cart horses, lumbering along distant narrow lanes, past grazing sheep and cattle, reminded her of when she was young and they’d spent long, hot summers at her family’s estate. Happier days.
She lost herself in the earthy view until Sebastian moved on the seat opposite her. She turned to face him, determined to get some information out of her new husband. Suddenly she found the courage to speak.
“You seem very pensive, my lord.”
Sebastian stirred and deigned her a look. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I suppose so. It’s not every day that one of London’s most notorious rakes gets married.”
His mouth curved with a hint of bitterness. “I wasn’t actually dwelling on our wedding. I had an urgent summons to come to Lord Markham’s estate. I’m worried for him. He was in trouble before I left for Jamaica.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, I’m sorry to have left my sisters so quickly. I have only been home for a day, and I could see the hurt in their eyes when I left so abruptly.”
Hearing the rough emotion in his voice, Beatrice felt an odd constriction in her throat. None of her family, she thought, missed her at all. The gentleness in his tone suggested he cared very deeply about his sisters’ welfare.
For a man who disdained love, he seemed to care for his family. “I envy you your close relationship with your sisters. My closest sibling was Doogie and he resented me.”
“We know why.”
She nodded. “He avoided me as much as possible.”
“Because you reminded him of obligations he wished to forget.”
“You don’t find your sisters an obligation?” she asked.
“Sometimes. They can test the patience of a saint.” He bent his head, rubbing one temple with elegant fingers, as if to ease the pain. “However, I’ve realized how selfish I have been. I had never really thought about my sisters’ situation, given my fall from grace. They are both of marriageable age, and the things I do reflect on them.”
“A man with a conscience. That speaks well of you. I haven’t thanked you for helping us. You could have declined.”
He was silent for a moment. “I owed your family, nothing more to be said. Besides, I have neglected my responsibilities for far too long. I realize that now. Our parents perished at sea when the girls were at an age where they needed a mother, and I took over guardianship of them.” Sebastian grimaced. “I’d been avoiding home for years before my parents died, the arguments driving me away. Besides, what the devil did I know about rearing innocent young girls? I saw they received an excellent education befitting ladies of wealth and rank, but other than the occasional visit home, I rarely saw them. I left it all to Aunt Alison. Until they came to town, they spent most of their time at my estate in York.”
“Marisa is very beautiful. She is nineteen now, isn’t she? I don’t suspect it will take her long to have a marriage proposal,” Beatrice ventured gently. “Then there will only be Helen at home.”
He took a slow, steady breath. “It seems so soon. It seems like only yesterday Marisa was causing havoc with the staff. Putting frogs in Cook’s bed.”
“Marisa is going to need a very special type of husband.” Her statement elicited no response, so Beatrice continued, “She has a mind of her own, she is quite determined, and she knows what she wants.”
“Marisa is very sensible underneath her bravado. She knows what it would take to make a good marriage.”
Beatrice blinked. “Make a good marriage? What does it take to make a good marriage, in your opinion?”
Sebastian seemed to hesitate before answering. “I think it takes mutual respect. I think you need to care for the other person, but not care too deeply. You definitely don’t want love to be involved. Love just spins passion and desire into a whirlpool of feelings that cannot be controlled. No. Respect, courtesy, and admiration are all that are required to make a successful marriage.”
There it was again. His disdain for love evident. He almost choked on the word, making Beatrice wince, but she didn’t know what to say. In her own mind she had to agree with Sebastian’s way of thinking. If love was to grow, it had to start with respect, trust, and admiration. Her parents had no love in their relationship, but unfortunately, neither did they have respect or admiration. This saw them live as vi
rtual strangers in their own house. All she knew was that she didn’t want her marriage to be like her parents’.
“I think that is probably a good recipe in order to have a marriage that is workable. However, admiration and respect are earned. And certainly your past behavior does not lend me to feel very admirable or respectful.”
Sebastian simply turned and looked back out the window. It was obvious he would not be drawn into a discussion on marriage. Perhaps he still had to come to terms with what had occurred this morning.
Some two hours later Beatrice felt the carriage slow; she roused herself from her daydreams to look out the windows as the carriage turned off the main road and onto an avenue lined by towering oaks.
“We have arrived,” Sebastian informed her absently. “They are going to be surprised that I’ve arrived with you. They will be even more astounded when I announce we are married. But they will embrace you and treat you as one of their own.”
The carriage rounded a curve, and she caught her breath at the vista. It was obvious this was the home of a very wealthy man. It was also a place of stunning beauty. Across the parklike gardens an immense building stood in magnificent glory. It was a pretty yet imposing, castlelike house, so large that it would probably take days to learn all its secrets. She half expected to have to cross a moat’s drawbridge to enter. The carriage moved on and swung round the cobbled drive. Beatrice began smoothing her skirts, suddenly nervous.
The instant the conveyance came to a halt, several grooms and footmen leapt to assist. As Lord Coldhurst helped Beatrice alight from the carriage, she made sure her hair was properly tucked in underneath her bonnet.
A man similar to Sebastian in height, but fair of hair, came out to greet them as they walked up the limestone steps. “Sebastian, my man, how wonderful to see you. With guest?” A flicker of puzzlement crossed his features when he took in Beatrice standing beside Sebastian.
A Promise of More Page 5