Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters

by Reed, Kristabel

  Rose looked across the small distance between chairs, unable to hide her confusion. Her dark eyes assessed him, and he forced himself to remain still as she did so.

  “You are correct,” James admitted, the truth of the situation rushing out. “This marriage has been rushed. I don’t want to begin our lives as lovers…awkwardly.”

  He stopped and wondered where his smoothness with words vanished to. No doubt along with his sanity. He took a deep breath and prepared to begin again.

  “I thought, perhaps,” he said, hoping she understood he meant every word, “I’d court you first. Then, when you have warmed to our marriage, we will then consummate it.”

  Rose’s head tilted to the side, her gaze unwavering. “You are a very strange man, Mr. Hamilton.”

  James just stopped himself from laughing in agreement. Or banging his head against the chair.

  “The courting could’ve been done while I still lived in my father’s home, before you tore me from it.”

  James sat straighter, watching her stand and stare down at him. How was he to explain the overwhelming fear he had for her at the mere mention of her being with Kendrick? Slowly, he stood as well, each movement controlled. He didn’t want to lash out, didn’t want to lose what precious little control he’d managed to find since meeting her yesterday.

  “I have explained why I felt that had to be done,” he said, doing his best not to speak through clenched teeth. Doing so would no doubt ruin whatever small connection they’d forged while taking a tour of the house.

  “That explanation makes little sense,” she countered. “You feared for a stranger’s safety in her own home?” Rose shook her head. She looked down then back up at him. “I don’t know what to make of all this, Mr. Hamilton. Nor do I necessarily wish to be courted by you.”

  Her words sliced through him, and he panicked. Before he managed to counter her words, she continued.

  “Release me from this marriage. It’s not yet been consummated,” she reminded him. “It can easily be discarded. Allow me to return to my own home tonight.”

  Fear clenched his heart. Fear and anger. Not at Rose, never that. At nameless, faceless things he couldn’t identify. At himself.

  “No.” The word shot from him. “You will never return to that man’s house.” His hands curled at his side so as not to touch her. “This is your home. Where I am is your home. You are now my wife. And I shan’t entertain again the notion of an annulment or any type of dissolution of this marriage.”

  Her chin shot up, and James had to tamp down on the very real need thrumming through him. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to taste her passion and fire, wanted to kiss her until she whimpered beneath him.

  “You don’t have to protect me,” she spat. “Your reasons for this marriage aren’t based on love or desire, but on your need to protect—what?” she demanded. “What do you consider me?”

  “I consider you my wife now,” he told her. “But I know our marriage is unexpected.” He stepped closer, but still refrained from holding her. “Never doubt I desire you.”

  James forced himself to step back. To put much needed distance between them.

  “I want to court you,” he said, the words so much softer than his previous ones. “I want us to fall in love and live a beautiful life together. Give us that chance, Rose,” he pleaded. James didn’t know where the words came from, but he meant every one of them.

  “What if I don’t want this?” she asked quietly. “You never asked me. You barely know my name, much less what’s in my heart.”

  “Then allow me the opportunity to know all about you,” he countered, still with that same pleading tone. “Don’t let my eccentric behavior ruin everything there could be between us.”

  Rose stood silent before him for long, long minutes. Then she nodded, a small movement of her head, but a sign of acceptance nonetheless.

  “And you will stay away from my bedchamber for as long as I want you to?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he agreed immediately. “I won’t touch you unless you wish me to.”

  Once again she watched him for a long minute. “That day may never come.”

  Without another word, she turned and left. James watched her leave, torn between letting her go and pulling her back to him. He hadn’t lied when he said he desired her. Since they met only yesterday, she was all he thought of. His dreams last night had been of her and even now, despite her word, his fingers itched to feel her skin.

  “I’ll accept what you want, Rose,” he said in the silent, empty study. “As long as you’re safe.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE NEXT MORNING, after a solitary dinner and an equally solitary breakfast, James stood in his study and forced his attention to remain on the plans for the new bazaar. He was quite pleased with the section he’d given to Kendrick, but was unsure about the center.

  Did he want to replicate the skylight from the previous structure? Create a dramatic dome? Or leave the ceiling flat?

  Digby stood stoically beside him. A tall, thin man with a mass of brown hair and a fantastic memory, Digby waited for his instructions for the day.

  “Good morning.”

  Once again Rose stood in his private study’s doorway, and once again her presence there caught him off guard. James looked up and forgot how to breathe. Yesterday she’d been dressed in a drab gown, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Today she’d dressed in a pale green day gown with embroidered flowers at the hem. Her hair had been pulled back into a chignon, with loose curls framing her face.

  James wanted to cross the room and tuck those curls behind her ear, to feel the smoothness of her skin against his fingers. He straightened instead and stayed behind his desk.

  “Rose,” he said and smiled. “Good morning. I trust you found all you needed this morning and the maids were helpful?”

  He couldn’t stop the nerves pricking his skin or the way he spoke too quickly. He’d never been nervous around a woman before—around anyone. But seeing Rose hovering just inside his study so early in the day set his world tilting.

  “Yes,” she said quietly and paused. “Yes, everything was…fine.”

  “I’m reviewing the plans for my new marketplace,” he said and gestured to his desk. “Digby here—oh!” He nodded to the silent man. “Allow me to introduce Digby, my favorite footman.”

  “Ma’am,” Digby said with a perfect bow. “Anything you need, please feel free to call on me.”

  Rose nodded to Digby with a slight smile, and James wondered what gossip the maids had already imparted to her. She took another step toward the desk, and he took that moment as positive.

  “I’m trying to decide—perhaps you can help me. Should I create a dome?” James pointed to one plan with a high-arched dome. “Or another floor for additional shops?” He pointed to the second sheet.

  “Or perhaps another skylight?” he asked and pointed to the final set of sheets.

  He wasn’t even sure she understood the plans. How much of his work did Kendrick share with his daughter? How much did Rose care? But James was desperate to keep her in the room, to engage her in any way possible.

  Rose tilted her head to one side and looked at first one plan then the others. She moved the dome pages slightly but said nothing for several minutes. James watched her in silence and wondered what she thought—wondered about all the thoughts that went through her head.

  “The dome is beautiful,” she said. “Stunning. But room for additional shops would allow for more places for women to explore. And, I believe, would increase your profits. Also, putting a smaller skylight in the center of the roof would also assist with light.”

  She looked up at him, and suddenly he wondered when she’d moved so close to his side.

  “Yes?” she asked, those dark eyes so direct.

  “Yes,” he agreed with a smile, still staring at her. “Perfect point, Rose. And quite a helpful suggestion. I like it very much.”

  James cleared his throat and
forced his attention to the plans Rose wanted. He dipped his quill into the inkpot and hastily scribbled his instructions for the second floor and skylight on a separate piece of paper.

  He did not, however, move away from Rose.

  “Digby,” he said sharper than he intended and scooped up the plans. “Bring these to the architects and see they’re passed along to the other builders.”

  Digby took the papers, bowed, and left. James didn’t watch him leave; his entire attention was on Rose, who had yet to move from behind his desk.

  “That’s the business for the day,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Thank you for your invaluable assistance.”

  Rose frowned, but he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes, around her mouth. “Is that truly all your business for the day?”

  “For today.” He nodded. “Yes,” he said and smiled. “Though normally business is never overly taxing; I approve plans and those I retain know how to proceed.”

  “Quite different from my father,” Rose said slowly, as if afraid of bringing that man into a conversation. “He always muttered at plans and yelled at workers, often well into the night.”

  James ignored, or tried to ignore, the instant scowl, the burning anger he felt at the mere mention of Kendrick. Instead he shrugged. “You’ll find everything here is very different,” he said instead. “Now.”

  He grinned and though he didn’t clap his hands together, he did straighten and maintain a relaxed stance against his desk. And he did feel relaxed, far more than he thought he ever would, given the previous days.

  “Where would you like to start our day?” he asked. “Shall I formally introduce you to the staff?” He waved it off. “That can wait. Or I can have a modiste here to dazzle you with new silks from the East. Or perhaps,” he offered and tried to reign in his enthusiasm. He’d spend time with her doing whatever she wanted—anything she wanted. “We can venture into the shops to find items to fill your dressing room with, hair combs or baubles or hats.”

  “Quite the temping array of choices, Mr. Hamilton,” Rose said but not shyly. Again he thought he detected a hint of amusement beneath the calm words.

  “When it is only us,” James said quietly, sincerely, “please refer to me as James.”

  Rose looked shocked, taken aback. Again she studied him with those dark eyes, her body utterly still for several moments. She blinked up at him, and he thought she was about to refuse. But then she slowly nodded.

  “Very well,” she agreed.

  “Thank you…Rose,” he said.

  Again her face betrayed her, and he watched the play of emotions wash over her. But then she swallowed and offered a slight smile.

  “You’re welcome, James.”

  He tried not to grin too widely, but this was great progress so far as he was concerned.

  “I should formally meet the staff,” she said, surprising him. She looked at her gown, her fingers brushing the fabric. “And perhaps a dress or two that’s more appropriate to meet with the duchess would be best.”

  Unable to contain his grin, James nodded. He rounded the desk and shouted into the hall, “Digby!”

  His trusted footman almost immediately rushed into the study. James frowned at him—had he not sent Digby with the plans?

  “What are you doing loitering here?” James demanded. Then he waved it away. “No matter. Deliver the plans then go to the shops and have those women Octavia wanted sent here.”

  Digby nodded. “Yes, sir, right on it,” he said and turned sharply, plans still in hand, and once more disappeared.

  Damn. James should’ve told him to gather the staff, too. No matter. He turned back to Rose and smiled at the amusement that was even more pronounced now. Yes. Definite progress.

  “I see why Digby is your favorite,” she said with what could only be described as the beginnings of a smile.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the upstairs maids exiting the room one down from his. “Find Barrett,” he instructed. “Have him gather the staff; it’s time to meet the new mistress of the house.”

  She hurriedly bobbed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said quickly and disappeared.

  Jammed reentered the study and wanted badly to cross the room and take Rose in his arms. It surprised him, the way his entire body ached to do so. How badly he wanted to feel her in his arms.

  “I’ve never directed so large a staff,” Rose admitted. “We only had two maids and a butler who was also the footman.”

  James smiled again. Being around her, he seemed unable not to smile. “Here you’ll want for nothing,” he promised, still far too many steps away from her.

  Her head tilted to one side, and she appraised him. Her hand rested flat on his desk, and James was struck by how right she looked there, behind his desk, planning his business with him. He tried to blink it away, but the image, the vision, remained. Then she smiled, a real smile, and nodded.

  He extended his arm for her, and she took it. He heard them gathering below and slowly escorted her down the hall to the stairs.

  “They think I’m oblivious,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “But I know how they take care of me and this house. And I know they’ll do the same for you.”

  Rose nodded, and much to his delight she moved half a step closer to him as they descended the staircase. James stayed by her side as she nodded to his staff—their staff. He continued to do so when they met with Mrs. Shelley, the housekeeper, and Barrett, the butler in the front parlor.

  He didn’t need to stay by her side and they both knew it; however, now that they had at least a pleasant understanding between them, James was loath to disrupt it. He didn’t want to push things between them, but he also wanted to continue on the path they’d forged.

  “I think the morning room,” Rose agreed with Mrs. Shelley. “Just after breakfast we’ll go over the menus.”

  Mrs. Shelley nodded and curtseyed, and minutes later she and Barrett left them alone. It would be some time before Digby returned with word of the dressmakers, and who knew when they’d arrive. So James turned to watch her and wondered what she was thinking.

  * * * *

  ROSE SWALLOWED, NOT exactly nervous to be alone with him. He’d promised not to visit her bedchambers until she felt comfortable. While a comfort, she still doubted. When she’d first met James, she’d been attracted to him. How could she not be?

  He was tall and handsome, with dark, intelligent eyes and a hint of a smile always hovering around his lips, and Rose had thought him quite unattainable. She wondered about him while she’d shopped that afternoon, of course she had, but no one knew save her.

  But now, sitting in his—their—parlor after having met the staff, Rose couldn’t keep her doubts at bay. Standing, she smoothed her gown in an attempt to appear above the station she’d been raised and nodded to herself. She couldn’t stay in the parlor with him, so close and unable to think of anything to talk about.

  “I’d like to see the gallery again,” she said in what she hoped didn’t sound like a command.

  James nodded and held out his arm for her to take. She did so, lightly placing her hand on his arm and allowing him to guide her down the hallway.

  “You said you had an affinity for Scotland,” she said as they walked. “You’ve been there many times.” Rose swallowed and waited as they walked through the gallery. It was as if James already knew what she wanted to see. The painting of the castle.

  “Tell me about it?” she asked softly. “Tell me about this place.”

  They stood before the painting for several silent minutes, but Rose was moderately surprised to realize it wasn’t uncomfortable. She turned from the painting to him and studied him. His head tilted to one side as if gathering his thoughts, and yet Rose knew he watched her every move.

  “Have you ever experienced a sense of familiarity?” he asked. “With a place…” He trailed off and looked at her. “With many things. It was the same here,” he said and nodded to the painting.

 
; “I felt as if I walked the castle before, the grounds around it.”

  Rose licked her lips and hesitated. “Did it feel as if you belonged there?”

  “No.” James shook his head immediately. “No, not belonged there. Just cared for something there.”

  He shook his head and tried to laugh, but it came out weak. False. “It’s difficult to explain and not something I’d normally give credence to, but it’s been this way since I was a boy.”

  Rose nodded before she realized she was. “I admit,” she said and wondered how honest she could be with him. Plunging ahead she said, “I’m curious about these feelings of yours. On the surface, they appear unusual. However, I understand this sense of familiarity you speak of.”

  Rose studied the painting and felt a pull to it, drawn in ways she hadn’t with the landscapes of Scotland her father collected.

  James turned and watched her. She didn’t feel uncomfortable as she met his gaze; there was a connection there she only now admitted might not be as mad as she previously thought. Or perhaps it was and Rose, trapped in a marriage she hadn’t wanted, desperately searched for ways to not make all of this sound so crazy.

  “How do you understand it?” James asked.

  She’d wanted honesty but now faced with it, she wasn’t certain she wanted things between them this honest. Swallowing, she mentally shrugged and pushed ahead. If they had nothing else between them, at least they had honesty. It was a foundation.

  “I believe everyone has a time when things feel familiar. When they feel as if they’ve seen something before or done something before. Mostly,” she continued slowly, choosing her words, “those are passing moments. Not a thing or feeling or thought you grasp.”

  James turned fully to face her and when she looked up at him, she saw that intensity from earlier. It didn’t scare her, not as it had, but rather it drew her.

  “What if you could grasp it? What if it became clear what it was?” he asked passionately.

  “You can never grasp such things,” she told him, still standing too close, still unafraid. “And it is folly to try. Accept them and move forward.”