by Jackie Ivie
She was sobbing long before she reached her room and hoped he finally understood. He couldn’t pass her off as a lady, and he should know.
He was the one who’d called her a whore.
***
“Here I thought you had matters under control. And just look. You go and muck it up.”
“Shut up, Bridget.” Gil narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did you get out of your chambers, anyway?”
“The servants have a penchant for that little lady. Somehow, my lock just flew open on its own.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Will there be money in it?” Reg quipped.
Gil glared in reply.
“I assume that means no. Pity.”
“All right. If you two are such experts, what did I do wrong?”
“Well…until that kiss, I thought you had it all the way, Gil, darling.” Bridget nodded and crossed her ample arms.
“What the blazes does that mean?”
“Only that after making the earth move for her, a simple lover-like word or two would’ve been forthcoming. But no. You, Gillian…are a complete brute.”
“Make some sense, damn it!”
‘What she means, Gil, is that calling the girl a whore probably wasn’t in your best interests.”
“Calling her what?”
“You said...oof!”
Reginald, Third Marquis of Dunsberry, toppled off the piano bench, holding his stomach, while Bridget dusted her palms together.
“Oh! This is absolutely wonderful!”
Gil frowned, wondering exactly when the world stopped making sense. “What is?”
“You don’t remember what you said, do you?” Bridget asked.
“No, damn it! And I’m getting tired of all the dramatics. If I called her a whore, I wasn’t far off, now was I?”
“Oh, dear. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“What isn’t? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ve decided I’m not interested in pursuing this conversation any further. I’m more of a mind to take another ride. You with me, Reg?”
“Com…ing.”
The marquis stammered the word and followed.
CHAPTER FIVE
“We’re leaving in the morning, Bridget,” Gil said.
“I’ve already had my townhouse prepared, Gillian, so don’t take that tone of voice with me.”
“I’ll take whatever tone—God! If anyone predicted my wedded bliss, I’d have strangled him!”
“I’d like a bit of that whiskey, Gil, if you’re prepared to give some up,” Bridget said. “And honestly, you’d think the thought of putting the town on its ears would bring a smile to your face.”
“I’ll smile, when, and if, the frost bitch decides she’ll play along, and not one moment before.” He raised his bottle of MacGruder’s finest and downed such a stiff draught that his eyes watered. Still, when he lowered the whiskey, Bridget’s crimson bulk stood before him.
“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” she said. “She’s tormenting herself enough, thank you.”
“I don’t particularly care how much she’s doing it. She’ll be a damned sight more tormented when I get through with her.”
“Is that why you’re drinking yourself insensible?”
“Oh, I’m quite sensible, Bridget.” He lowered his feet to the floor with a loud thud.
“Perhaps you’re not as drunk as I thought.”
“I’m much drunker than that, Bridget, my love.”
“Listen to me, Gil. I know why she won’t agree. It’s been the devil’s own time getting her to open up, but I think—”
“I don’t give a parson’s ass what you think, Bridget!” Gil stumbled to his feet and immediately banged his shoulder on the door jamb.
“Gillian Tremayne, if you so much as approach her, I’ll—”
Gil turned and saluted with the bottle. “Why would I approach her now? I’m not much good to her in this condition.” He laughed bitterly and turned to find the stairs.
It would’ve been easier to climb them if they hadn’t been weaving so much. He pulled himself up the banister hand-over-hand, and toward the top, on his knees.
Reginald had left just before Gil started drinking. This was his fault. His taunts. He’d damned Gillian to visions of reddish-brown hair cascading over slim, white shoulders.
“Damn her, anyway.” Gil crawled along the forest-green carpet his Grandmama had brought back from the Orient. “Damn the little frost bitch. Locking me out for three days. What the hell would the Lord Tremayne want with the little frost bitch, anyway?”
It was odd, but the carpet led him right to her door. He didn’t stop to consider that bit of fate when his head struck wood.
“Oh, Brandy love,” he called. “It’s your dream man, come to lay his head on your fine bosom.”
The door opened to his next head knock, and Mrs. Wright glared down at him.
“Well, I never!”
He ignored her when he saw his little Brandy, sitting so prim and proper in bed and looking shocked as Gil started laughing again.
“Brandy! Love!”
“Get out!”
His Brandy wouldn’t yell at him like that, wreaking havoc with his mind. He shook his head, having forgotten the frost bitch had taken over. He cursed his luck.
“Can I assist you with something, My Lord?” Mrs. Wright bent over to him, and he smiled.
“You can shut the bloody door on your way out.”
It seemed someone had taken over his household, and he was tired of it. Mrs. Wright didn’t obey. Instead, she looked at Brandy, as if she’d rescind the order.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Wright. I can handle him. I’ve handled far worse than one drunken lord.”
“If you’re sure, Mum.”
Mrs. Wright curtsied prettily, and Gil found that hysterically funny.
“What do you want, My...uh…Gil?”
Helene asked it after Mrs. Wright shut the door behind her. Brandy was covering herself with a robe. He didn’t want that, and he told her so.
“I’ll wear what I like.”
He had enough sense to grab her when she came too close, thanking his luck.
“Let me go!”
She was probably struggling, and he didn’t like that, but he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and told her of it.
“No Wait! You can’t carry me, Gil! You’ll fall!”
Wrong.
If she didn’t stop wailing in his ear, he’d go deaf. Somehow, he judged the distance correctly, and they bounced on her soft, lovely bed twice before stopping. His head kept bouncing, however, making the room an interesting sight.
“Brandy-love, please. Stop struggling, damn it. I just want to love you. I’ve always wanted to love....”
He was acting like a Hun again, but her lace negligee wouldn’t open, and with the look she gave him, he didn’t care.
“Not this way, Gil. Please?”
Her throat tasted like he remembered, only sweeter, and he told her that, too. And to his surprise, she quit struggling. It was a good thing, too, because he could hardly get the clasp of his trousers undone with one hand while the other one held her.
“Oh, Brandy. Brandy. You won’t deny me, will you?”
He wished she’d stop moving so he could focus on her brilliant burgundy-shaded eyes.
“I...I wouldn’t stop you, Gillian. Somehow...I knew you’d be the one.”
The damn buttons wouldn’t give, so he gave up for the moment. There was time enough for that later after he had his fill of her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. Deep. Bottomless. Fashioned for gazing into...
And then she kissed him, her mouth was so sweet that the throbbing of his head nearly sent it off his shoulders. He held onto her, grinding his face into hers.
And that’s the last thing he remembered.
***
A band of traveling troubadours danced on his head. Gil did the only thing he could — he howled at them to stop.
“Oh. So you’ve finally awakened to the world? I thought you’d sleep all day, which would’ve been fine with me.”
“Hush up,” he groaned, shoving his nose into a jasmine-scented pillow.
“Hush up? Me? I thought we straightened that out ages ago, My Lord.”
The frost bitch was dancing on the bed. The movement almost made him retch.
“Get the hell out of my chamber, then!”
He ran a tongue along his teeth, checking for damage. Good. He hadn’t lost any. But how was that possible when he must have taken a blow that knocked him senseless?
She laughed with pure delight. He almost smiled. Of course, that would mean the agony in his head meant nothing, and she wasn’t getting away with that.
“Didn’t you hear me?” He rolled over and covered his eyes with a forearm. “And close the bloody drapes!”
“Oh! A fine one ye are, Me Lord. Just tumble poor little Brandy an’ not even a ‘by-yer-leave’ to the deed.”
“Do what? To whom? Speak sense, will you? And where’s Witherspoon? Witherspoon!”
“As far as I know, it’s not acceptable for him to enter a lady’s bedchamber, so you can cease the caterwauling.”
Gil groaned and sat up, hoping to find a place where the world wasn’t rocking.
***
Helene held her breath and tried to stop staring. Impossible! It was strange enough having him asleep in her bed, but she hadn’t realized he was without a stitch of clothing on his upper half, and his pants weren’t fully fastened. He was absolutely stunning, even in that state, but she’d never say so. He had a large enough head already. He didn’t need to know she found him gloriously manly. Fit. For a gentleman of leisure, he had far too many muscles. His frame didn’t look to have an ounce of fat to it. Anywhere. That was odd. And visual.
Helene put her hands to her cheeks to cool them. When that didn’t work, she closed her eyes. There was no other way to cease staring at him. And she needed her wits to work.
“What the hell? I’m in your bedchamber.”
She opened her eyes. He was looking around. And frowning.
“I suppose that means I wasn’t very good. You’re ever so flattering, My Lord.”
“Oh, Christ.”
He stood and Helene stifled the amusement. He looked so unstable, as if the slightest puff of wind would topple him. It took some time to gain his balance, and there he stood, one arm wrapped about her bedpost. For stability. Displaying way too much skin.
As if it was nothing.
Oh…heavens! He’d ripped her nightgown down the front, nuzzled the skin between her breasts, startling all sorts of reactions all through her, and yet not once had she noticed his nearly naked state?
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “Hand me a shirt or something.”
“I’m afraid I don’t stock your size, My Lord. Perhaps one of my robes would suffice? I daresay you’ll look entirely too feminine, but some things just can’t be helped, can they?”
“You talk too much.”
He groaned and fell back down, rocking the mattress with the move. Helene giggled and faced his bleary gaze head-on. And then his eyes narrowed. And she held her breath.
“You don’t look ready for travel.”
“Of course not. We can’t possibly make London today, My Lord. You’ve done slept the morn away, you have.”
“Quit screeching. I can hear just fine. And London’s but three and a half hours from here. Three, if I’m racing.”
“But…the marquis said it took you all night to get here.”
“Did he now? I don’t suppose he mentioned we got lost twice in the bloody darkness, did he? That does tend to slow a man down.”
Her face fell. She felt every nerve. It wasn’t amusing anymore. “I’m sorry. I can’t go with you, Gillian.”
“I’m not asking you to, love.”
He gave her the strangest smile and waited until she returned it. He wasn’t asking her to go to London with him? All that fuss for nothing?
“Thank God,” she whispered.
“So. Do you think you can talk Mrs. Hotchkins out of some coffee? Lots of it. Thick brewed. Black. Why…I think I’ve taken a hankerin’ to your bed, love. It’ll take a stiff cup before I can move.”
She watched him stretch out, putting all that man on display. He looked glorious. It probably showed on her face. That’s why she ran to do his bidding.
And that’s why his ruse worked. She’d been too bemused by the sight of him half-clad in her bed to pay attention to what he said. And how he meant it. He hadn’t been asking her anything, because he was finished with asking. And now he was ready to force it. She’d been given half an hour to decide which it would be.
And she was just starting to trust him.
“You look ever so lovely, My Lady.”
Mrs. Wright bobbed a curtsy, while Helene looked her at her with raised brows. Lovely? With her scars?
“That color is perfect, too.”
“I thank you for saying so, Mrs. Wright.”
Helene looked about her chamber for any missed article, before realizing the obvious. What did it matter if she left something behind? She wasn’t going to be away long. She might be back in residence before nightfall. Because no one could pass off a face like Helene’s as a lady. Her husband, the grand Gillian Tremayne was a blind fool.
“You ready, darling?”
As if she’d called for him, Gil filled the doorway, looking a different sight entirely from the previous night, when he’d crawled through that same portal and forced her...no. Wait. He wasn’t the type to force anyone.
What am I thinking? She was being forced right now.
“Do I have a choice, My Lord?”
“My Lord?”
He walked toward her, coming within an arm’s length. She had to force her feet not to back from his advance.
“Fine. My Lord Gil, damn it!”
“Such language. Please. It’s just Gil, not Gil-damn-it.”
“I would’ve come down when called. You didn’t have to come and fetch me, My Lord...Gil.”
“Of course you would have, love. And…now that I think on it, hauling you over my shoulder wouldn’t do this jacket any good. I might burst a seam.”
He turned about, as if to show what he’d meant. It had to be on purpose. The coat was perfectly tailored to very broad shoulders…and those tapered to his trim waist. Oh bother! She actually had to fight a blush.
“You are barbaric, My Lord.”
He turned back, raised an eyebrow, and then waved his hand. She knew what he wanted, so she ground out his name.
“Oh, surely not, love. Although…I do seem to have my moments. If I recall correctly, I didn’t hear any complaints of barbarism last night.”
He was too close to talk that way. And too handsome. Fit. Healthy-looking. With his clean-shaven, dimpled chin, clear-blue eyes, and an ensemble that fit without a wrinkle, where was the evidence of his perfidy? He should be pale and drawn-looking, grimacing at her with lines of dissipation marring his face. Not grinning disarmingly, his white teeth flashing against a tanned face.
He winked. And she reacted, stepping back with a gasp. Oh! This was terrible.
“Why, darling. You’re trembling. I like that. I like it a lot. Perhaps I should put off traveling for another day. We’ve so many...other things...we could be doing.”
His voice lowered, and her eyes went wide. She couldn’t even prevent that. Drat everything.
“Oh, no! No. Today’s perfect! I mean...I can’t think of one reason to delay!”
She was around him and through the door before he reacted. And it carried a lot of laughter. Damn everything! There was that mirror on the landing to bypass, as well. Helene turned her head aside, dipping her new hat with the feather plume so she wouldn’t have to see her horrid, banshee face.
Very well. He won this round. But the moment anyone saw what he’d married, she wouldn’t be responsible for the result.
>
Stupid man.
CHAPTER SIX
They arrived in London in the pitiful travel time of four hours and twenty-five minutes, mostly due to Lord Tremayne’s three exits from the carriage to the bushes along the roadside. Helene did her share of snickering, and, while it was amusing while it lasted, once they arrived, she knew the knot in her stomach wouldn’t let up until she knew what Gil planned. Perhaps she should’ve held her tongue, but it was too late — besides, it had been amusing.
“A body would think you were too old for such a thing.”
She spoke to him after the first time, when he collapsed in a miserable heap in the corner of his well-appointed traveling chaise. This carriage bore little resemblance to the one she’d been treated to on their wedding day, and, if nothing else, turnabout was fair play. It was her turn to watch the other suffer.
“Speaking of ages,” she said, “I’ve told you mine, but you haven’t been as forthcoming.”
“Leave me be, for pity’s sake.”
She ignored his whimper. He was forcing her to travel with him, and he deserved all her attention.
“So tell me. Just how old are you?”
“Older than you and younger than Methusela. Now bless me with some quiet, Woman!”
“In all those years, you haven’t learned what too much drinking does to you?”
“Stop the carriage!”
He’d hammered the panel overhead. Helene barely stifled her laughter as he leaped out before they halted.
It took longer the second time before he blessed her with his presence again. As he groaned into a corner, he wrapped a rug around himself for warmth.
“Where’s Lady Bridget, anyway?” she asked. “I thought she planned to travel with us today.”
He grunted without lifting his nose.
“I don’t suppose she went on ahead to warn anyone of our arrival?”
“She has her own bloody house!”
“Really? Are we staying with her, then?”
Another grunt, but that time, he moved a bit, and Helene wondered how long they’d travel before he’d be knocking to be let out again.