The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman

by Kasey Michaels

  In any of the novels she’d read, the dratted man would be madly in love with her by now, courting her relentlessly, perhaps even breaking down her door one night to claim his husbandly rights.

  He had knocked at her bedchamber door last evening, that was true, but only to ask if she could please instruct Archie to pay more attention to his master and perhaps even coax him to give up his new favorite spot at the bottom of her bed for the hearth in his bedchamber.

  Was she unattractive? Wasn’t he attracted?

  She was attracted to him, and had been since she’d first seen him at a rout party her first week in London. He simply was something out of her novels. Tall, dark, sinfully handsome. Being rich and titled was nice, but it wasn’t what had attracted her.

  It had been his smile, full of secret knowledge. The way he sometimes stood propping up a pillar at a ball, seemingly lost in thought, sometimes not quite happy thought. It was the sound of his voice, the rumble of his laugh. She’d woven fantasies about him for two months, and now the reality had outreached even her fantasies.

  He was kind; he was considerate. He was a good master, undoubtedly a fine friend. He could be every inch the earl and he could be silly.

  Eleanor had known herself to be infatuated, even when she’d seen him following the herd, romancing all the tall, blond, blue-eyed debutantes while she had sat alone, her estimation of the male of the species dropping a new notch with each dance she sat out, each dinner she was forced to go down to with only Francesca by her side.

  But Nicholas—she liked to think of him as Nicholas—hadn’t really been a victim of fashion. If anything, Miss Halstead had been the victim, for the man had chosen her at random, because she suited, because, as all men of a certain age and with certain responsibilities to his name, he had needed to marry and set up his nursery.

  Eleanor felt rather sorry for Miss Halstead, who had not been present at any of the functions she had attended as the new countess.

  But her brother, Gregory Halstead, had been at last night’s ball, and had made quite a business out of whispering with his friends, pointing in her direction, and just the once, leering at her.

  Eleanor wasn’t stupid. She had noticed Gregory Halstead. She had also noticed that Mr. Halstead had done none of these things until after Nicholas had retired to the card room with Sir James.

  She hadn’t noticed any lessening of ladies willing to speak with her, and her dance card had remained full. But it had been obvious what Mr. Halstead had been trying to do.

  Embarrass her. Embarrass Nicholas.

  It wasn’t as if all of the ton didn’t know about the impromptu marriage, and most of them must know that there had been a hasty application for a special license, after which a second ceremony would be performed, privately, hopefully quietly. There was certainly enough fodder for gossip, but the Earl of Buckland had consequence, and the whispers would be kept silent while, publicly, everyone would smile and bow and curtsy to the new countess.

  Such was the way of Society.

  Mr. Halstead was not playing by the rules.

  There was a scratching at the door and Eleanor climbed off the bed to let Archie in before he got in trouble with Mrs. Penny for ruining the woodwork. “Shame on you, Archie,” she said as she opened the door, only to see that Archie was not alone. The earl was with him.

  “I’ve tried to teach him how to take the latch in his mouth and let himself in and out of rooms, but he’s simply too short,” Nicholas said, stepping into the bedchamber. “I have the special license, wife. Tuesday next, you become my wife a second time. I thought we’d have the ceremony here, in the drawing room, if that suits?”

  Eleanor nodded, watching him walk around the room Mrs. Penny had told her he’d never visited since the death of his mother eight years ago. He had taken over the master chamber on the other side of the now-open door eighteen months ago, upon the death of his father and his own ascension to the earldom, giving away every last stick of furniture and even stripping the Chinese papers off the walls, before redressing the chamber from the walls out.

  But he hadn’t touched this chamber, a thoroughly feminine room Eleanor had loved at first sight; all rose and pink, and welcoming. To her. Nicholas looked rather out of place, even uncomfortable.

  “Jamie, that is, Sir James, told me something this morning that I need to discuss with you, if you don’t mind.”

  Eleanor shook her head. She had nodded, now she had shaken her head. But she hadn’t spoken. She couldn’t speak. Something was wrong. She could sense it, feel it.

  “It concerns Gregory Halstead,” Nicholas told her, his back to her. “He’s put it about that I have reneged on an offer to marry his sister.”

  “But you didn’t offer,” Eleanor said, finding her tongue. “Did you?”

  “No, I did not. Not formally. But I will admit that when Gregory hinted in that direction, I did little to disabuse him of his presumptions. I—I don’t think I cared enough to do more than allow myself to be carried along by…events. I am nearly four and thirty, Eleanor. It is time to set up my nursery.”

  Eleanor began to nod her head, then stopped herself. “I don’t care what anyone says about me, Nicholas,” she told him, a small thrill lifting her heart as she used his name. “But what about your honor? You won’t be challenging Mr. Halstead to a duel, will you? Or he, you? If either of you died, the other would be forced to flee England.”

  He turned to face her, smiling a one-sided smile. “Yes, that would be inconvenient, wouldn’t it? Dying is acceptable, but being banished? It’s unthinkable.”

  “Stop it,” Eleanor warned him, stepping closer. “This is not amusing. I am not amused. I made the mistake, remember. I opened the wrong door. It is fair if I’m whispered about, and I don’t mind. But none of this is your fault. You’ve been above all things considerate.”

  “Yes, I have, haven’t I? A true prince, actually,” he teased, smiling yet again.

  She gave serious consideration to shaking him.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I hesitate to tell you, wife, now that I know I am the figure of your admiration in this matter. However, by the murderous look in those lovely, large brown eyes of yours, I believe I shall hazard the truth. I’m paying him off, gifting him with enough blunt to pay his creditors and cushion his pockets until he hares off to the nearest gaming hell and goes into debt yet again.”

  “Paying—? You’re giving Mr. Halstead money? For his silence? Oh. How…how…”

  “Unromantic? Even prosaic?” Nicholas offered.

  “Well, yes,” Eleanor conceded, hanging her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to fight a duel. I really don’t.”

  “But I could have punched him? Horsewhipped him? Blacked his eye, bloodied his lip? You would have approved of that?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose not,” she told him sadly, then looked up at him, grinning. “How do you know me so well, in such a short time?”

  “I have no idea, brat, except to believe that, at times, when I look at you, I’m looking in a mirror, seeing myself a few years ago. But much prettier,” he ended, running a fingertip down her cheek.

  “I…you, um, really?”

  “Really. Young, a little hotheaded, full of thoughts of honor and exploits and feeling…oh, I don’t know. Larger than life? Eager for that life?”

  “And you don’t feel that way now? Why?”

  He withdrew his hand, his dark eyes becoming shuttered. “We all grow up, wife. I did, when I became the earl, and you have, in this past week. Haven’t you?”

  “I—I suppose. Just a little.” She shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’m still silly, romantic Eleanor, who lives in her dreams most of the time. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, sighing. “I like the way you look at life. I like the way you look at me.”

  Eleanor dipped her head once more, then looked up at him through her lashes. “How do I look at you?”

  “Like
that,” he said quietly, then put a finger beneath her chin and tipped up her face. “Like this,” he whispered.

  And then he kissed her.

  Eleanor had been half expecting his kiss, but she had never, not in her wildest dreams, expected her reaction to that kiss.

  All strength left her in a rush, turning her weak, turning her bones fluid. Her throat tightened, her arms ached until she could raise them, clutch at his shoulders.

  She felt his tongue against her lips and, not knowing what to do, followed his lead as he seemed to urge her lips open. When his tongue moved inside her mouth, at first slowly and then plunging, tasting, tasting, she let her pent-up breath go on a sigh and melted against his strength. She felt his palm cup her breast and instantly knew that she wanted more. More.

  How long the kiss might have lasted, what might have happened next—she would never know. Cloris took that moment to enter from the dressing room, carrying a freshly pressed gown over her arm, her head down as she fussed with one of the pleats, saying, “Now, see if you can keep this clean until it’s time to—uh…uh…oh, dear. I’ll…I’ll be…yes, well…somewhere else.”

  Eleanor could feel Nicholas’s lips curl into a smile, and she pushed herself away from him, still holding on to his shoulders, and glared up at him. “You’re laughing? How can you be laughing? That was humiliating!”

  “It was? Would that be the kiss, or the interruption?”

  “The interruption of cour— Oh! Stop laughing!”

  “True, wife, this is no time for laughter. But it will soon be time for something else, won’t it?”

  She stepped away from him completely, turned her back to him as she hugged her arms around her waist. “I—I suppose so.”

  “My, aren’t you sounding elated. A lesser man, wife, would go into the woods and fall on his sword after a display of enthusiasm such as that.”

  She whirled around to face him. “I believe you might find one hanging in your study, my lord. Shall I fetch it for you?”

  “No need,” he told her, sobering. “I believe I have already been cut to the quick.”

  “Oh, stop it! You’ve made it more than clear that you don’t care who you wed, who you bed. If I were not here, Miss Halstead would be. So please don’t try to fob me off now with some farradiddle about knowing me so well or—”

  “Just to be clear about the thing, you said that, not I.”

  “Be quiet! Oh! You spend so much effort trying to be heartless, Nicholas. Why do you do that?”

  “I have…a very good reason.” He looked around the rose-and-pink room, then looked at her once more. “At least, I did. This past week? I don’t know, wife, I’m beginning to think I’ve wed a witch.”

  “You could have had that confirmed if you’d just spoken with Francesca at any length,” Eleanor said, flushing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me? I have to go settle Cloris, who is doubtless wringing her hands in shame in the dressing room. I shall be downstairs in one hour and we can leave for the theater. Perhaps they’re putting on a farce. That, husband, would make two in one evening.”

  He looked at her for a long, tense moment, then turned on his heels and went back to his own bedchamber.

  She locked the door once he was gone, then burst into tears.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELEANOR HAD BEEN to the theater twice in the two months she’d been in London, as Walter had said that the theater could be “too fast” for a simple country girl.

  Walter was such a stick.

  Eleanor loved the theater. The magic. The world she traveled to by watching the actors, becoming a part of the story, at least for the moment, so that when the intermission arrived, she had to physically shake herself back to the moment, smiling weakly at Nicholas when he said that he and Sir James were off to secure them some refreshments.

  Because now she knew a story was a story, fascinating as it could be, and nothing more. She had been smacked into reality, real life, and mere drama could only be a pale and temporary interlude.

  “Oh, could that be Lady Imogene? Oh, yes, yes, it is. How utterly famous!” Miss Lucille Simmons trilled, vaguely motioning with her fan to a box down somewhere to the left of theirs. “My lady, would you mind awfully if I just stepped round to speak with her? You can tell Sir James that I’ll be back directly.”

  “Certainly,” Eleanor said, happy to be rid of the insipid girl—blond, tall, blue-eyed—Sir James had escorted to the theater. She had talked incessantly throughout the entire first act, and it was only by a firm application of will that Eleanor hadn’t picked her up and tossed her over the railing and into the pit.

  Eleanor knew she had been, yet again, the center of much attention this evening, and the subject of many whispers. Nicholas had to know that, as well. It was probably why they were here, because Nicholas was not the sort of man to back down from anything. By the sheer power of his will, he was making her a part of Society, establishing her as his wife, his countess.

  But he had not taken her as his wife. Not yet. But he would. She knew that. He had said it, almost as if in warning, and now he had kissed her, and that kiss had carried a message of its own. Tonight. Tomorrow. Perhaps next week, when they had said their vows a second, more official time.

  Was she ready to be his wife, or was she a child still, living in dreams, making him into some hero out of a novel? She thought she was. Perhaps she was. Maybe she was…

  Had he lived up to her hopes for him, when she had first seen him at Almacks, as she had watched him these past months? Yes, he had, and more.

  And she had been so nervous all evening that she had been shredding her lovely new lace-edged handkerchief in her lap! Eleanor quickly stuffed the ruined thing into her reticule and sat up very straight, tried to do everything a countess should do.

  Looking distant and haughty seemed like a good place to start.

  Within seconds, her nose began to itch. Oh, wasn’t that above all things wonderful! Did a countess scratch her nose in public? Probably not. Probably even less well-bred to wiggle that nose, trying to get the itch to disappear.

  So she picked up her fan, spread it, and began waving it in front of her face, keeping it waving as she turned her head, reached up with her free hand and gave the side of her nose a good rubbing.

  “My lady?”

  Eleanor jumped in her seat, nearly slicing off her nose with the edge of the fan. “Yes?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat, turned around. “Um, yes?”

  “You may not know me, my lady, but I felt it was time I introduced myself. I am Susan Halstead.”

  Eleanor already knew that. Lord knew, she’d seen the woman enough, crowning over all of Society, or at least all the eligible gentlemen. But this was as near as she’d been to the woman, and she was amazed by just how lovely Miss Halstead was, up this close.

  Her skin was peaches and cream. Her eyes the clear light blue of a summer sky. Her blond hair was smooth, heavy and shone like the sun.

  No wonder she was so in fashion, had so set the fashion.

  Eleanor felt short, dark and dull, and decidedly second rate.

  “Please, Miss Halstead,” she said, waving her fan toward the vacant seat beside her, “do sit down.” At least now Eleanor wouldn’t get a crick in her neck, looking so far up to see the woman.

  “We’re being watched, my lady,” Miss Halstead said, “so I will smile as I say this, and suggest you do the same. I will also be brief, and very much to the point. I would not have had the Earl of Buckland if he had presented himself to me on a silver platter, an apple stuck in his mouth. I just wanted you to know that. You did not steal him from me. He’s yours, as my gift.”

  Well, that shut Eleanor’s mouth for a few seconds. She even forgot to smile, until Miss Halstead’s constant display of fine white teeth reminded her that other eyes were watching.

  “Ah, what a pity, Miss Halstead,” she said at last when the numbness of shock had drifted away and the anger had surfaced. “And here I thought your poor heart
was broken, your reputation in a shambles as the woman who was presented but not taken.”

  Miss Halstead’s eyelids narrowed, and she leaned forward slightly. “I come from a family that can trace its lines back to William the Conqueror, my lady. I come from a family that has never allowed so much as the shadow of a scandal to touch it. My ridiculous brother to one side, that is, but he has been warned that if he says anything else he will feel my mother’s wrath, which is considerable.”

  “And he’s been paid to shut up,” Eleanor pointed out meanly. “Your brother is a fine representative of William the Conqueror, I must say.”

  That took Miss Halstead aback, but only for a moment. “I am not responsible for my brother’s actions. But how like Lord Buckland to avoid a confrontation on the field of honor.”

  “A duel, madam? You wanted a duel? You cannot have it both ways. Either you wouldn’t have had my husband on that silver platter, or your honor has been impugned. Which is to be, madam? I vow, I’m confused. In fact, I don’t know why you’re here at all.”

  “Really? You don’t feel everyone’s eyes on us? I’m here, madam, to silence the gossips. In fact, before I leave this box, you and I will cry friends and you will allow me to kiss your cheek, so that I can reenter Society without fear of sniggers behind fans or veiled messages of condolence. I will not be made to suffer because of someone as insignificant as you. Do you understand? And you will do this. If not, madam, what I am to tell you now will become public knowledge.”

  Eleanor, still smiling, cocked her head to one side. “Do you read novels, too, madam? Yes, I would think you do.”

  “Just listen closely, my lady Compromise, for what I am to tell you is the reason why someone of my background could not possibly ally herself with the Earl of Buckland.”

  Eleanor supposed scratching the woman’s eyes out might be frowned on by some of the ton, so she let her sharp tongue loose, to slice where it might. “Allow me to hazard a guess. He has a heart, and you don’t?”

  Miss Halstead’s smile widened. “He has his bastard half brother as his valet, madam. Just one of many bastards his father sprinkled across England.”