A brief trip to her rooms, a hasty wash up and a quick cup of tea sufficed to bring her to some semblance of herself. She returned to the massive library in time to be introduced to the magistrate and his assistant. They proceeded instantly to business.
Hannah signed the marriage lines first, her shaking hand dripping ink so that a new contract had to be drawn. After conferring with the solicitor, the marquis came to her with a new nib. She signed again, this time steady enough not to ruin the crisp new document.
There was no ceremony to speak of. Just their signatures on the parchment to bind the contract. They did, however, share a glass of champagne with their guests, who quickly departed.
She spent her first night as a bride playing a game of chess with her husband, and went early to her bed, alarmed by what she had agreed to. Hannah was determined, however, to fulfill her marriage contract—and, no matter how distasteful—fulfill the bargain she had made, as well.
.
* * * * *
.
In his suite of rooms in the far eastern wing of the house, David hid himself during the ceremony, keeping well away from the new mistress, as instructed. An hour after her arrival, he was paid a visit by Mr. Maguire, who laid out Hannah's conditions for accepting the contract of marriage and the additional bargain.
For what seemed like an infinite amount of time, David stared at the solicitor, his mouth working but no sound issuing forth. Having just been informed of the lady's terms, he was wont to give over the entire scheme and return to London, post haste.
Finally, he drew breath and spewed forth his objections. "That is not possible. She must be mad... how can one conduct such an alliance without words? And in total darkness? Has she a deformity? Is she that ugly, sir?"
He leaned forward eagerly, hoping for enlightenment.
"Though I would not call her a beauty, she has no deformities, and is quite presentable. She demurs at the idea of bedding a man under these circumstances, and wishes to remain anonymous and to keep you at arm's length, if you will."
"Anonymous?" David could not believe his ears. "How, then shall the lady expect to remain anonymous if I am bedding her in the house of the Earl of Darlington? Is she that naïve?"
"She believes that you will be led here blindfolded and not told anything except your duty is to impregnate the wife of a wealthy man unable to beget an heir. She knows nothing else."
The solicitor paused, then said almost reluctantly. "Yes, she is naïve, but not stupid by any means."
David heard the warning behind the words, and bristled slightly at being spoken to in such a manner. He was somewhat mollified when the man next spoke.
"I have a great regard for the shrewdness of the lady, and was not disappointed in her request. It gives great insight into her morals and intellect." Pausing, the older man's shrewd gaze assessed David to such a degree of truth, he became uncomfortable.
He went on in a patient voice, "As you pointed out to me yourself, this is an act of adultery. In her eyes, you are a possible source of blackmail or, at the very least, some discomfort to her. She does not know, of course, who will actually be selected, and as we told you David, you are not to give her a hint of your identity."
"How can I? I will be in the woods, wasting away in that demned cottage all day, and at night I will be in a darkened room, mute and probably impotent."
"I should think not. Well, you will be mute, but you are a healthy male, and put into the young woman's bed, I am sure you will find yourself capable, and most likely, very willing."
Mr. Maguire grinned his officious grin and turned his eyes to the ceiling. "She is not ugly, as I said, and given time, you will produce the heir, collect your inheritance and be on your way. Quite simple, actually."
"Simple? Well, if it is... then you should present yourself in her chambers tonight." Piqued at the solicitor's off-hand manner, David could not stop himself baiting the very proper gentleman. "My father would never know the difference... "
"Can you cease this foolishness?" Mr. Maguire flushed at the implication. His sensibilities affronted at the idea, he spoke in a harsh tone, "Give over lad. You are just a bit nervous and will come up to scratch when the time is on you."
"Tell me this, then. What does she mean exactly by impersonal performance? I cannot envision anything impersonal about this particular act, and it puzzles me no end... "
"I believe that she means no foreplay, no prostrations of fond regard, no... fondling. That sort of thing." Knowing full well that his duty had been discharged and he was now into an area that was treading on delicate ground indeed, the solicitor hedged his words. "Rather like bedding a prostitute. Just do the deed and be gone."
"I can hardly treat her like a prostitute. She is the daughter of an earl and a gently bred lady. What could she be thinking?"
"Probably has no notion of what will happen, truth be known. Virginal misses seldom do, you know. Be careful not to display an unwarranted amount of lust and try to keep your demned mouth shut."
"That will be almost impossible. Why, I wonder, does she insist on that particular?" David could not imagine a tryst without some conversation. "How will she even know I am there... if it is dark, as you say it will be?"
"You will knock on her chamber door at precisely nine, and she will know it is you, for who else would she be entertaining at such an hour in her bedchamber?"
"No one, I should hope. But what of her maid? Does she not sleep in the anteroom of her suite? How can she be kept from knowing?" David, thinking hard and fast, was trying to put all the pieces together and prevent a fiasco that might cost him the phenomenal allowance.
"The maid has a room in the attic. Been told the anteroom was being refurbished and would not be available just yet. She has not to say in the matter, whether she believes the explanation or not."
"And you say that she wants no talking whatsoever?"
"That is correct, and, actually, it works to our advantage. Since the Marquis plans to have you as guardian to the heir, there will come a time when she meets you... in the daylight. If she should recognize your voice, it could be disastrous."
David leaned forward and knocked his cold pipe on the fire grate, releasing the ashes therein, and rose from his chair. He looked down at the solicitor, and in a very somber tone, bid him good day.
"I imagine we shall meet in future Mr. Maguire." He could not smile, for his heart was suddenly heavy at the thought of what he'd agreed too. Instead, ne inclined his head respectfully, saying "I believe you have done an excellent job for my father and would thank you on his behalf."
With that, David quit the room, calling for a mount from the stable and went off to the cottage, for he knew its location well. It had been the trysting place of his father and mother, and was in fact, where he had been born—in all probability conceived as well.
Chapter Three
~~
Hannah paced the distance across her vast chamber to the window and back again to her bed. Her night rail hung about her slender frame like a billowing tent, hiding what few womanly curves she possessed.
Stopping before the Cheval mirror, she stared at her image, seeing a woman she hardly recognized. Rather pallid of complexion as a rule, her rapid heartbeat had caused a flush to come into her cheeks. Her amber eyes appeared wild and her lips swollen where she had bitten them in her trepidation as she'd paced.
A mane of light brown hair hung down her back in a long braid, swinging against her hips as she turned and headed once more toward the window. She had been pacing like this for the better part of twenty minutes and was so nervous she thought she might expire with her agitation.
Hearing a step on the runner outside her door, she quickly moved to extinguish the lamp at her bedside, plunging the room into total darkness.
Hannah dove under the covers, calling a timid assent to enter when there was a scratching at the door.
The portal swung wide, and for a moment she saw—backlit by the candles flicke
ring in the sconce on the anteroom wall—the silhouette of a very large man, shoulders wide, legs thick with muscle.
Then the door closed with a loud click of the latch and a long silence ensued while he stood in the darkness, likely getting his bearings.
His footsteps sounded at last as he approached the bed. Hannah lay rigid with fright, her pulse fluttering. She listened to the rustling noises as he divested himself of his clothing, her body jerking involuntarily as his boots thudded against the floorboards.
The swish of cloth as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it where the boots had fallen drove her anxiety higher. That he would be without clothing had not occurred to her and now she faced at last that which she'd avoided contemplating.
She could tell from his breathing that he stood next to her. She scooted to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers close under her chin, shivering—a chill washing over her body that had nothing to do with the coolness of the night.
The bed dipped under his weight and the coverlet left her for a moment as he lifted it and slid beneath. When he shifted to face her, Hannah mentally shrank from the touch he would surely bestow upon her person. Then his hand, large but gentle, came in contact with her face, and he moved it softly over her mouth and nose, then down her neck, where he stopped as the fabric of her gown met his touch.
She trembled in dread as his fingers clutched and tugged gently at the fabric, drawing it aside so that her shoulder and breast were exposed as the ribbon that threaded the material together gave way. His fingers stroked the soft skin at the apex of her shoulder and throat, then moved downward, touching her small, apple hard breast. She turned her body away from that touch. He withdrew his hand.
He moved on the bed and drew himself up so that he loomed over her, so close that his hot breath whispered against her flesh as his mouth inched closer, his hand moving up once more to stroke her lower lip.
Then he moved closer still and pressed his mouth against hers, flicking his tongue against her tightly compressed lips, pushing his way between them, forcing her teeth apart as one hand gently clamped her jaw, pushing it open, allowing his tongue to plunder her mouth.
His breath smelt of cloves and tobacco, and faintly of brandy. She tugged away from his grip and turned her head sharply to avoid his questing mouth, and he pulled back, his hand dropping away as he leaned up over her as though he were looking at her.
Trembling in fear of the unknown, Hannah heard him sigh, as though in resignation, and he shifted slightly, sliding one arm beneath her. He inched a hand downward, clutched the hem of her garment and tugged it upward, exposing the most intimate place of her person.
His hand grazed her naked flesh as the gown came above her belly. She jerked away from the intimacy of his touch, but there was little room in the bed and no place to go. His hand stilled instantly at her withdrawal and she heard his sharp intake of breath, a small growl following as he expelled the air.
A low hum emitted from his throat as he gentled her, his hand caressing her cheek. Suddenly in one swift movement he thrust one powerful leg between her own, parting her thighs and spreading her legs. She went rigid as his hand began to explore her womanhood, delving, seeking and finding her opening.
Tears of humiliation slipped down her face as she held herself still under his touch. She could not say him nay. She had made a bargain and this was her duty.
As though sensing her trepidation, he made the same humming noise as he lifted his heavy body over hers and lay still upon her, his arms going behind her and his hands lifting her up to meet him. As he struggled to enter her virginal body she would have pulled away, but his hands held her in a grip so strong that she could not move.
His lips bussed her forehead in a gesture that somehow conveyed tenderness as he lifted his body once more, then pushed into her, and she cried out with the searing pain.
Holding himself still inside of her, he lifted his weight onto his elbows and waited until her trembling lessened, then slid one hand down her body and pulled her leg up over his hip, giving him complete access. Thus he began to move upon her, drawing himself into her with powerful strokes, pulling her against him as he began to tremble and shake.
Suddenly, he stiffened and held still against her, a growl discharging from his taunt throat as he spilled his seed into her womb.
Collapsing, he crushed her small breasts with his upper torso, and his entire body went limp atop her. She could not breathe and pushed ineffectively against the matted hair on his chest, trying to dislodge him, and after a moment he rolled aside, and she sucked air in great gasps.
Had she conceived? she wondered as she lay looking upward toward a ceiling she could not see. Had he given her the seed of life? Hoping that he had, lest she have to repeat this most intimate act, she curled to her side, away from him, tugging her damp night rail down over her hips, close around her, and slept almost instantly. When she awoke, she was alone.
.
* * * * *
.
David Strongbow stood on the small porch of the cottage, staring out over the fallow earth, his pipe, cold and long forgotten, clenched between his teeth. The extended shadows of afternoon lay over the unplowed fields and slithered their dark fingers into the marshy forest beyond. This, then, was his retreat and his prison as well. For, according to his father, he could not wander about and chance being seen by anyone.
The cottage, located in a remote region of the estate, had been hastily refurbished for his use until he had fulfilled his purpose. A note trilled out from a far away robin, and the underbrush nearby crackled as field mice scurried about. It was quiet and peaceful, and in other circumstances, he might have been glad to find himself here alone, away from the strain of his daily existence as a minor, and near penniless, member of the ton. Bastards of the peerage were granted some standing, but not much.
He absently removed the pipe from his mouth and knocked it against the railing, dislodging the ashes. He watched them drift slowly away in the soft breeze.
The craggy features, thin aquiline nose, and long chiseled jaw melded his face into what could be called autocratic, but his full sensuous lips, a gift from his mother, relieved the sternness. His deep ebony eyes, yet another gift from his mother, were set well back in his head and over them perched black bushy brows that were at this moment drawn together as he frowned in remembrance of his night's activities.
He relived the moments, one by one, trying to decide upon the approach he would use this night and the nights to come, until the Marchioness of Darlington was with child. He had sold his seed for a fortune and now all he need do was force himself in the dark upon an untried girl he could not even see.
She had been frightened and stiff, avoiding his intimate caresses, refusing his kiss and withholding herself as much as she could. It seemed wrong somehow, as though he had forced her. Though she was a willing participant, it was a form of cruelty—any way you looked at it—and David had never in his eight and twenty years forced a woman to his bed.
It was even more difficult that he was not allowed to speak to her. He longed to soothe her with gentle words, but the conditions of her submission that he neither speak to her or linger in her bed after the deed, precluded him from doing that. The darkened room had also been a condition, for she did not wish to see him, or have him see her. He had hoped to seduce her and at least make the interval pleasant, but it was not to be. Perversely, he was glad; for it proved her morals were strong, no matter the bargain she had made.
He understood how difficult the plight of a woman alone in this harsh, unforgiving world and wondered at her courage, for it had taken no small amount of that, for her to agree to this arrangement. No matter, that her options were limited. She could have petitioned the court for protection—having some royal blood—but perhaps she did not know this.
Realizing the time for his nocturnal visit grew close, David went into the cottage and prepared to eat his small dinner. Though his father had sent over
a basket of delicacies he could not find appetite for them. Only picked at the meal, digging through the wicker basket until he found the bottle of fine port and a hunk of cheddar cheese. Slicing the cheese, he munched upon it as he continued his ruminations.
Somehow he had to communicate with her but knew if he breathed even one word she would turn him away, and if he failed to fulfill his part of the bargain, his father would be happy to return him to his spare quarters in London, and might even withdraw the small stipend he now received. Yet the task ahead was daunting, indeed.
How did one go about wooing a girl whom one could not see, could not speak to and could not even kiss? He wondered that he could even perform; she was so shy and reluctant.
He wanted her participation, nonetheless. Some dark, savage part of him wanted her to respond... to give herself freely to his lovemaking. It was not his ego that suffered in this alliance, but his soul. For David was—in his deepest self—a man of honor, and this indifferent coupling was abhorrent to him. If he were creating life, he wanted that life to begin from affection, not bargaining.
A night owl hooted in the tree outside, as though to remind him the hour was upon him, and David rose from his chair and donned his coat. Stepping into the darkness, he went to the small enclosure that passed for a stable and saddled his mount in the dim light of a lantern hanging on the fence. He took the lantern, and mounted the horse, a fine-blooded stallion.
As the horse picked its way along the path, he hunched in the saddle and tried to drum up some enthusiasm for his task. He laughed ruefully at the thought, and the sound carried eerily into the shadows. It had sounded so much easier when his father's solicitor had approached him. Alas, his greed, had come to the fore at the mention of three thousand pounds a quarter—quite a fortune for a man accustomed to depending on his friends dinner invitations to keep from starving.
Straightening his posture as he thought of his past struggles and what this allowance would mean, he urged the mount to a trot and went to meet his fate.
.
The Silent Love Page 3