A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Richard,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

  She was certain she heard him chuckle as he teased her to little delighted moans. When she climaxed, she slumped back on the smooth surface, watching him through half-open eyelids as he jerked off his cravat and his remaining clothes.

  Before she could offer encouragement, he was inside her, holding her legs as he plundered her heat. She reached for him as he leaned over her, rocking against her, her eyes watching the passion build on his face.

  For a second time, her pleasure peaked. She offered little nonsensical words of encouragement, giving a final gasp as they found release together.

  Expecting him to close himself off from her as was his want, instead he reached to lift her into his arms and carried her to the rug before the fireplace. Lowering her onto the plush surface, he joined her, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

  Brenna curled up against him and laid her head on his chest. His hand caressed her back.

  “We are quite a pair,” she said softly. “When I chased after you, I never expected this.”

  “Our marriage of convenience is proving anything but convenient,” he agreed. “It would be better for us both if you went back to London. It would ease the temptation.”

  Rising up slightly, she looked into his eyes. “I know you have doubts about me, our baby, everything. You steel yourself against us, unwilling to risk your heart. But I am not going back to London, not when I have everything I want here.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I do not ask for your love. I only ask that you give this marriage your full consideration.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I suppose I owe you that much.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of affection or a strong affirmation that she was not foolish for thinking they had a chance at happiness. However, he wasn’t pushing her away and reaching for his clothes. That in itself was a victory.

  Smiling, she rose onto her knees and straddled him. She leaned to press a light kiss on his mouth. Her breasts teased him, and she felt his cock twitch.

  “I know we agreed to a marriage of convenience, yet I think denying our pleasure is foolish. It isn’t as though we risk a child. That deed is done.” Brenna wriggled against his erection. He reached for her breasts. “I will not lock my door. You are welcome to have me whenever you wish.”

  Mischief welled in his eyes. “You may not want to make that offer, mistress. I can be most demanding.”

  She slid her hand between them and eased him inside her. “I shall take my chances,” she said softly, and impaled herself on his manly sword.

  Good evening, my dears, Richard.” The man paused and stared at Brenna, his handsome face showing his surprise. “And the lovely new addition to our supper table.” The stranger crossed the room and stopped beside Brenna’s chair.

  Bending, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Had I known what was awaiting me at home, I’d have returned sooner.”

  Knowing a rake when she heard one, Brenna accepted his attention with patience, as she suspected this was the missing George. Dressed impeccably in a dark blue coat and matching waistcoat, she wondered if her husband paid the bills for the expensive clothing.

  “Please do tell me you have come to marry me and make me the happiest man in all England?”

  Brenna resisted rolling her eyes. She suspected that there were dozens of women all over these fair shores who had received the same proposal. Still, he was charming.

  This explained why Mrs. Beal did not like him. Effusive charm would not appeal to the sensible housekeeper.

  “I fear you are too late,” she said, amused, as his face fell. “I am already wed.”

  “She is my wife.” Richard’s voice was tight. Clearly, he did not appreciate George fawning over his wife. “Lady Ashwood, this is Mister George Bentley.”

  With a most exaggerated sigh, George bowed low over her hand and returned it to her. “Such is the bane of my existence. I am always a step behind.”

  A feminine cough from down the table saved Brenna from a response. She knew nothing about the man and wasn’t certain what to think of him or how to proceed without giving encouragement. She suspected he was the sort who’d not let marriage vows deter a courtship.

  “Brother, do sit down,” Bethany said sharply. “You have already disrupted our meal.”

  George glowered at his sister, who returned the gesture in kind. Then he claimed the seat across from Brenna and sat.

  The rest of the meal was taken up with news of George’s adventure to Dover. While Richard scowled at his houseguest, the three women enjoyed tales of horse races and gambling and an ill-fated courtship; most of his animated buffoonery was directed at Brenna and the reason for Richard’s scowl.

  Once his tale was told, his face grew grim. “Alas, there was one sad note, in an otherwise enjoyable adventure.” He paused dramatically until all eyes were upon him. “A maid was found dead at the base of the cliffs. The constable believed she either fell…or was pushed.”

  Miriam gasped. “How horrible.”

  “Indeed it was,” George agreed. “My friend Stewart, who lives in Dover, has promised to keep me abreast of the investigation.”

  A sober mood fell over the room. Brenna leaned forward and frowned. “Another maid was found at the bottom of the stairs in Bath last spring. It was determined to be an accident.”

  “I remember that case,” Bethany added. She twirled a ring on her finger. “Do you think neither was an accident, and that a killer is murdering maids all over England?”

  “Nonsense,” Richard interjected. “The two incidents were in two different cities, far apart. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman has taken a tumble down a flight of stairs or gotten too close to the edge of a cliff. To take a leap to a crazed killer of maids is ridiculous.”

  “Still…,” George said low and for dramatic affect. “We must make sure our doors and windows are locked and our maids safely tucked in behind these walls at night, lest the grim reaper comes to call.”

  Miriam’s eyes were wide. “I shan’t sleep a wink tonight.”

  “See what you have done with your tale of murder?” Richard said, with his eyes hard on George. “Every time a shutter rattles, the hall will be filled with terrified female shrieks.”

  Brenna reached for her teacup. “I promise I’ll not shriek over rattling shutters, if that sets your mind at ease.”

  Richard motioned for dessert to be served. “Unless there is proof a killer is connected to the two cases, we should accept that these are two unfortunate accidents and be done with this silly speculation.”

  Taken to task, the foursome let the matter drop. Still, even Brenna wondered how well she would sleep.

  As a child, she had loved ghost stories and tales of the grim fates of unwary travelers who vanished on fog-shrouded roads. Still, no matter how much she enjoyed having her wits scared out of her, she could never sleep well for several nights after. And though what Richard said made sense, she suspected her night would be spent listening for those rattling shutters.

  When the last dish was cleared away, the group gathered in the parlor. Bethany played the pianoforte with skill, and the rest of the conversations progressed on a lighter note.

  Later, when Brenna was abed and Richard joined her there, she rolled onto her side and watched him stoke the fire.

  “Isn’t there a small part of you who thinks a grim reaper could be wandering around England killing unsuspecting maids?” she asked, drawing an exasperated stare. She smiled. “It certainly made for entertaining supper fare.”

  “George is a dolt. He takes pleasure from commanding the attention of the room.” Richard stood and walked barefoot, and naked, to the bed. Brenna watched him, admiring his perfect male form. He climbed in beside her. “When I was a child, my uncle used to tell us tales of young boys gone missing on moonless nights, to keep us from sneaking out of our beds and making mischief. Not once do I recall a singl
e missing boy, here or elsewhere.”

  He lowered himself over her and kissed her nose. Brenna circled his neck with her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. Richard grinned under her seeking mouth.

  “If you promise not to talk about murder, I promise to give you something else to occupy your mind.”

  When she nodded happily, he did as he vowed, and later, she slept quite soundly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brenna spent the rest of the week certain she was dying, while Lucy assured her that the nausea would pass and all would be well. Richard removed anything pickled or curdled from her sight, but nothing eased her symptoms.

  “You are not dying,” Richard assured her.

  Lifting the damp cloth from her face, she narrowed her lids. “You do not know that.”

  He tried desperately to keep a sober expression. “Unless you are crushed beneath a tipping chamber pot, we can assume you are in no immediate threat of expiration.”

  Groaning, she dropped the cloth back over her eyes. “I can see I’m to expect no sympathy from you.” She felt the bed move under his weight. He lifted a corner of the cloth.

  “I would take your misery upon myself if I could.”

  His sincerity touched her. “I believe you mean what you say, Husband.”

  “That I do.” He patted her thigh and took his leave. Brenna replaced the cloth over her closed eyes.

  A few minutes later, Lucy climbed onto the bed with her. “I see there will be no more pickled eel.” She sighed deeply. “I do adore eel.”

  Brenna grumbled. “How much longer can I keep the babe a secret? George, Bethany, and Miriam didn’t seem to notice the change in fare, but the maids will begin to wonder why my stomach ailment has no end.”

  “Thankfully, as a new member of the household, you can eat as many pastries as you wish without drawing notice.”

  Brenna tossed the cloth away. “Though I am still slender, the laces of my corset do not cinch as tightly as before. By my calculation, it won’t be long before I can no longer hide beneath high waistlines and a flowing skirt.”

  Lucy pulled her from the bed, and they left the room. “You will strain His Lordship’s purse strings with the excess cloth needed to make your gowns.”

  “I do not find you amusing. I cannot imagine waddling about the house like a pregnant bovine,” Brenna groused, as she and Lucy walked down the staircase, arm in arm. Richard was talking to a maid in the foyer. “My cousin Eva is barely able to rise from a chair without a pair of footmen and her husband helping her up.”

  Lucy gave her a sidelong look. “I am certain that is an exaggeration.”

  “Not by far.” Brenna looked at her husband, casually dressed in dun-colored trousers and a deep blue coat. Her breath caught. Then, “My mother said she could clear a wide path when she was pregnant with me. I expect to be the same.”

  “You will be lovely.”

  Brenna smiled for Richard as they neared. “I hope my husband thinks so,” she whispered.

  Richard stepped forward. “I know what will lift your mood, Brenna. A picnic. It is a fine day, and I have advised Cook to only pack the blandest food available.”

  An outing did sound fun. Perhaps fresh air would settle her stomach. “I shall get my bonnet and pelisse.”

  Minutes later, Richard helped Brenna into the curricle, and they were on their way. “The clouds are gathering,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

  “Hmm.” Richard looked up. “I think we will return before we get wet. I promised you a picnic, and I expect the weather to help me keep my word.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “There is an old ruin just down the road,” he said, taking a right at the end of the drive. “It used to be a small abbey but was abandoned long ago, when a larger one was built closer to London. It is interesting architecturally, and I thought you might enjoy exploring the place.”

  Brenna nodded eagerly. “I would, very much. Perhaps we might even see a ghost.”

  He flicked his gaze to her. “There is an old cemetery on the grounds, kept up by a caretaker. I am convinced that there are ghosts aplenty inside those iron gates.”

  The idea of a haunted abbey sent a trill of excitement through her. She rubbed her hands together and eagerly looked about for a first sight of the ruin.

  “Do you think we could ask one to rattle a chain or moan dramatically?” Brenna asked, with mock seriousness. “I do adore chain-rattling ghosts.”

  “We shall have to wait and see.” Richard made another turn, and soon the abbey came into view. It was three stories tall, with a large bell tower in the center that added another tall story. The rest was made up of lower wings, jutting out this way and that. The roof was gone, but the rest of the building seemed to have withstood the elements quite well. Though there were small cracks in several places in the stonework, the place appeared sound.

  “This is the perfect place for a picnic,” Brenna said, in awe. “It is charming.”

  Richard drew the horse to a stop and helped her down. “Would you like to explore first, or eat?”

  “Explore.” She did not hesitate. She hurried toward the building, Richard on her heels. “I can’t wait to find the first ghost.”

  The wood door to what she supposed was a foyer of sorts was nothing more than a few broken bits of ancient wood from the missing roof scattered in the grass. Brenna stepped over them and through the open doorway. The room went clear up the full three stories and opened up to the sky beyond.

  Several crows took flight, soaring skyward without a roof to block their passage, their black bodies disappearing against the backdrop of gray clouds.

  Instead of seeing the birds as a grim omen, Brenna clapped her hands. “Perfect. I am convinced a ghost is nearby.”

  Richard shook his head. “Next you will be talking about dead maids and murderers. Who knew you had such a dark imagination, my dear Brenna.”

  She glanced up toward the second floor. “Is that a chain I hear rattling?” she said, and grinned. “We’d better hurry before the ghost gets away.” She lifted her skirts and hurried for the stone staircase, her laughter echoing off the walls.

  Keeping close to the wall, as the crumbling stone railing appeared to be unsafe, she climbed the stairs and entered the first room to her right.

  The space was sparse, as expected, and full of cobwebs. A brick and stone alter stood at one end, and Brenna wondered how many pairs of knees ached while kneeling for hours on the stone floor before it. Hundreds, she suspected.

  Richard came in beside her, brushing a web away from his head. “You really must let me lead this exploration.” He held up his cane. “There could be rats or raccoons living in these rooms. I’d hate to see you bitten.”

  Rats? Brenna shuddered and peered around for any sign of the furry critters. “If there is one thing I hate more than mice, it is rats. Perhaps I will let you lead.”

  They explored the rooms for an hour or so, Richard scaring off two mice and startling a wren from its nest. As with the foyer, the third story was missing much of its roof. With rain threatening, they moved back down to the second floor.

  There were no ghosts, though Brenna was certain that once darkness fell, there would be spirits aplenty.

  “This is the last room,” Richard said. It was the largest, with a huge stone fireplace and the biggest collection of spider-webs. They fluttered in the breeze coming in through the chimney and missing window glass.

  Brenna paused in the doorway, her ears picking up a noise. It sounded like shuffling feet. “Did you hear that?”

  Richard went silent and listened. “Is it your ghost?”

  She wasn’t certain what she heard, but she did hear something. It was coming from the staircase. “Perhaps it is.” She motioned with her hand, and Richard joined her in the hallway as her imagination took flight.

  Clutching his arm, she waited for a ghost to appear. When he did, she bit back a gasp. The spirit was old and stooped and w
heezing from the effort of climbing the stairs.

  Wheezing? “Do ghosts wheeze?” she whispered, as the apparition paused, bending over to place his hands on his knees while struggling to reclaim his breath.

  Richard chuckled. “I fear you have mistaken something earthbound for a ghost. Hello, Mister Crane!”

  The elderly man righted himself and peered through the dim light. “Is that you, Lord Ashwood? I thought that was your curricle.”

  “Mister Crane is the caretaker here,” Richard muttered, under his breath. Brenna hid her disappointment. She had really hoped for a ghost. “You have caught us trespassing,” he said, as the man approached. “I thought my wife would enjoy exploring the grounds. Lady Ashwood, this is Mister Crane.”

  A pair of kind eyes scanned Brenna’s face. “I’d heard you’d married. A lovely one is this new Lady Ashwood.”

  Brenna smiled. “Thank you, sir, though I am certain the dim light flatters me.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “My eyes may be old and tired, but I can see His Lordship made a fine choice. And high time it was. I’d worried that boy would never bring home a new missus.”

  Glancing at Richard, she saw him sober. Though they’d seldom missed a night of lovemaking, he held part of himself from her, and she always woke up alone in her bed. Now he was reminded that he hadn’t chosen her, not really. Her stomach knotted.

  “I was waiting for my perfect viscountess,” Richard smiled tightly. “When I met Lady Harrington, I knew I had to make her my wife.”

  The truth had been twisted to appear as if theirs was a love match. Brenna’s heart ached. Good breeding kept her smile in place. She’d not crumble in front of a stranger.

  When Mister Crane grinned, she saw that his upper two front teeth were missing. “A fine choice, indeed.” He winked at Brenna. “I shall leave you two lovers to your exploring. I have some weeds that need my attention.”