To Wed A Viscount

by Adrienne Basso

  Griffin Sainthill, Viscount Dewhurst swaggered into the room as if he owned it. He was freshly shaven and wore an immaculate ensemble of clothing, complete with a costly morning coat of deep blue that Faith had never seen.

  From the delicate loop of his white cravat to the gleaming shine of his Hessian boots, Griffin presented a picture of polished elegance. Yet this fashionable demeanor was very much at odds with the raw virility emanating from his every step.

  Faith’s breath caught in her lungs. He has returned! Perhaps only briefly, perhaps just to tell her that he was leaving her permanently, yet the practical side of Faith’s nature was relieved to see him. At least now she would not be left to wonder and worry and speculate. She would finally know her fate.

  Faith drew a breath. There was so much to say, so much to explain. But where to begin? She licked her lips and gathered her courage, yet one quick glance at her husband’s closed expression left her caught in a strangling sense of panic.

  The silence between them lengthened, becoming so complete it was terrifying. Griffin crossed the room to stand beside the table. Faith tilted her neck up to stare at him and tried valiantly to swallow the lump in her throat.

  “I see that breakfast has been served.” He flashed a wide smile, then snatched a piece of crispy bacon from the platter resting in the center of the table and popped it into his mouth. “I hope you have saved some of the choice dishes for me. Or have you greedily consumed them all?”

  Faith smiled wanly, not knowing what to make of his strange mood. He was teasing her, with that wicked grin and flirting banter, but there was no merriment in his eyes, no mischief on his handsome face.

  After chomping down on his bacon, Griffin took the seat opposite hers. He filled a plate and proceeded to consume a hearty breakfast. For perhaps the first time in her life, Faith felt stricken to silence. The awful quiet ensued, though Griffin gave no outward indication that it concerned him.

  She noted with some degree of envy that he took seconds of several dishes. When the viscount finally ceased eating, he exhaled with blatant satisfaction and sat back in his chair.

  “Shall I ring for more food?” Faith asked. “I’m sure the innkeeper would be flattered to see the justice you have done to the meal.”

  “Justice?” Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so now you are concerned about justice. How interesting.”

  Immediately Faith realized her mistake. She felt the remnants of her slight smile fade away. She had been deluding herself, assuming because he had no difficulty eating he was in a congenial frame of mind. In her nervousness, she had completely underestimated the degree of his anger.

  Even with the barrier of a solid wood table between them, she could now sense the tightly coiled impatience inside him. Nervously, Faith lifted her cup, but the pungent odor of chocolate made her stomach heave. She returned it to the table without taking even a small sip.

  “Is there something you wish to say to me, Griffin?” she finally asked, breaking the tension she could no longer tolerate.

  “There is much I have to say, my lady wife.” His smoky eyes were suddenly ablaze. “Yet first, I believe that you have some explaining to do.”

  Faith felt the tremor snake through her body. The brilliant sunshine that heated the room brought her no ease. She felt horribly cold, chilled to the very bone, for this cold came from deep inside her.

  She stared at him. For a moment she was too afraid to think, let alone speak. She noticed, for the first time, the icy coldness behind his silvery eyes, the harsh set of his mouth, the steel in his voice.

  She closed her eyes tightly, briefly, then looked directly at him. “I had meant to tell you the truth once I realized that you believed Neville had compromised me.”

  “Oh, really?”

  The scorn in his voice nearly caused her to flinch. Griffin’s handsome, hard features blurred before her eyes. Faith felt the sting of emotion as tears threatened, but she would not let them fall. She knew how much he despised a woman’s tears. The very least she owed him was to spare him that unsavory sight.

  “I did try to tell you,” she blurted out loudly. His brow raised at her outburst. Faith took another breath. “I only realized a few hours before the ceremony why you had decided to marry me. I was shocked and confused, uncertain of what to do. Eventually I decided it would be best to have a private word with you the moment I arrived at the church.”

  “Apparently you changed your mind,” he said dryly. “Why?”

  Faith hung her head. “I lost my nerve, and by the time I regained it, the ceremony had begun. I found myself in a haze, lost in a strange dream. Before I knew fully what was happening, we had spoken our vows. I had pledged myself to you. The deed was done. You were smiling at me, seeming so pleased. Everyone was hugging and congratulating us, and then later at the wedding supper there was so much laughter and merriment. I suppose I could not bear to see it all end.”

  “You did mention at supper that you needed to speak with me,” Griffin admitted grudgingly. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Concerning this matter?”

  “Yes.” Faith knew she had been utterly mad to give in to the temptation of waiting to say anything. But she had wanted this marriage so badly. “I also attempted to tell you in the coach on the way to the inn last night. But once again I could not find my voice.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that you did not plan this from the first? You did not intentionally deceive me when I came to London in search of you?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “How could I not?” He shrugged his shoulders expressively. “Your need was great. Without me for a husband you would lose your beloved Mayfair Manor. I cannot fault you for falling to temptation to make a fool of me when the opportunity arose, as much as I despise your treacherous methods.”

  Faith crossed her arms protectively over her chest. True, she had been at fault. And she was willing to accept responsibility for her actions and face the consequences. But to be conceived as a thoroughly corrupt woman was a harsh accusation. And wholly unfair.

  “I did not set out to trap you, nor deliberately deceive you.”

  “I beg to differ, madame.”

  “You are wrong.”

  “No, madame, I was wronged,” he said with difficulty through nearly clenched teeth.

  Faith’s heart sank. Things were far worse than she had imagined. The look in his eyes was dark and unforgiving. She lifted her cup and took a sip of her now cold chocolate. It rolled around her tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

  “What will you do?” she finally dared to ask.

  He stared over the top of her head, gazing out the window for the longest moment. “I have few options. We can hardly annul the marriage after the bedsport we shared last night.”

  Faith drew in a sharp breath. It took a moment to find her voice, for there was a heavy weight pressing on her chest that made speech nearly impossible.

  “Then I suppose it must be a divorce,” she said slowly. “Will you petition or shall I?”

  “Divorce!” His head spun around wildly.

  “I see no other solution. I do not think I can live with a person who holds me in such contempt.”

  “The hurt is raw, and I am angry, Faith.” Griffin passed a hand over his mouth. “Given time I should be able to forgive you.”

  “And if you cannot? Then shall I find myself swiftly and firmly cast off?”

  He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. “I can make no promises nor predictions concerning my future feelings toward you.”

  “That is not the sort of marriage I want.”

  “Well, you should have thought about that before you deceived me.” Griffin’s gray eyes flashed with anger.

  “I am willing to take the lion’s share of the blame, but ’tis not entirely my fault,” Faith responded. “If you had not mistakenly held my character in such low esteem, then you would not have proposed marriage in the first place.”

  Griffin
sat up and leaned over the table. “I asked you point-blank if my brother had ruined you, madame. And you replied that he had.”

  “I spoke the truth. I was ruined, unfit for marriage in the eyes of nearly everyone I knew.” A grim, lopsided smile twisted on her face. “After being engaged for so many years without becoming a wife, there were many who wondered at my shortcomings, which surely must be vast and unbearable. When Neville died, I knew in my bones there would never be another opportunity for me to be married.

  “I have few illusions about myself as a woman, Griffin. I could never have attracted the attentions of an eligible suitor.”

  He faced her fully, and she could see the stubborn set of his jaw. “What utter nonsense. I might have proposed to you out of a sense of duty, but I find you desirable. Surely other men feel the same.”

  “You find me desirable?” Excitement lit her eyes. The serious issues of the discussion paled at this unexpected admission. “Truly?”

  “That is hardly significant.” Griffin cast her a superior male glance. “And completely irrelevant.”

  Faith anxiously crumbled a piece of toast, then brushed the crumbs off her fingers. Griffin began to speak, but his words no longer had the power to distress her. He found her desirable! All her life she had craved that kind of male attention. ’Twas almost unbelievable to hear that from the man she had fallen so deeply in love with, the man who was her husband. At present.

  In Faith’s mind, that single admission changed everything. Now there was hope, a real chance for their marriage to continue. Griffin said he could probably forgive her in time. Still another reason to hope. The memories in her head of the night they shared started churning, making her suddenly breathless and over-warm. Faith remembered sharply the intimacy they had shared, the way she had so wantonly craved his touch, had so completely shattered in his arms.

  No man could be so gentle, so loving, if he did not care, at least a little, about the woman in his arms. A third reason to hope.

  “Faith? Faith? Are you listening to me?”

  She felt his hands on her shoulders. With renewed determination she lifted her chin and stared at him.

  “I have tried to explain myself, Griffin. I have apologized, several times, for my actions. I know not what else I can do. You have indicated that perhaps in time you will learn to forgive me. That is generous of you, yet I know that I cannot spend the rest of my life trying to atone for this mistake.” She grasped the table edge and stood on her feet. Her legs felt like thin spindles that could hardly support her weight.

  Faith knew this was a calculated risk, but was determined to brazen it out. If there was any chance at all for a successful life together, she had to regain her pride and self-respect, or else Griffin would never be able to see her as anything other than a liar and a cheat. “As soon as I can hire a coach, I shall return to Mayfair Manor. If you wish to continue the marriage we have contracted, you may find me there.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “You expect me to simply say no more about this matter?”

  “Yes.” She turned from him and walked to the door.

  “I will not stay where I am not wanted, nor will I go begging constantly for your forgiveness. I want to be your wife, Griffin, not your whipping boy.”

  It was the longest five steps she had ever taken, but somehow Faith managed to open the door and walk inside the bedchamber. Utter silence followed her.

  The quiet was complete. Griffin stared at the closed door in amazement, still marveling that Faith had calmly delivered her ultimatum and then walked through it. He waited for the anger to boil over, the rage to engulf him, but it did not come. Perhaps the anger had all burned off last night, when he had left the bedchamber and his bride, to find himself walking about the barn and stables of the posting inn for several hours.

  In the wee hours of the morning Griffin had summoned the innkeeper, giving him a cock-and-bull story about needing a larger chamber for his valet. Fortunately there had been an unoccupied room prepared, but instead of his servant, Griffin had spent the remainder of the night in these accommodations, tossing fretfully on the bed, trying to sort out his feelings, and wrestling with the problem of his wife.

  Would she never cease to surprise him? He, who had long believed he understood the workings of a female mind, who had enjoyed many different types of relationships with women throughout the years.

  Griffin had always prided himself on the ease in which he conducted these many liaisons. The lack of fuss, overwrought emotions, demanding restrictions that other men complained of when speaking about their wives or even their mistresses and lovers, were never a difficulty he had to face.

  Yet now he was saddled with a wife he barely understood, who seemed to enjoy high drama. This was very quickly making his life far more complicated than he had ever believed possible.

  Yet, in truth, the problem ran far deeper than his lack of understanding his bride. It was difficult for Griffin to fully acknowledge that he had been hurt by her duplicity, wounded by her deception, for that would mean that he cared for this vibrant woman with his heart and not his head.

  Griffin had always thought himself invincible to the pain that women could inflict. It was an unpleasant and unwelcome discovery to realize that he was wrong. And he blamed Faith for forcing him to make that rather distressing realization.

  Griffin let out a long breath of air and rubbed his hand across his stomach. The full breakfast he had consumed in order to show Faith that he could calmly cope with this situation now sat heavy in his stomach. He suddenly wished his pride had not demanded such a blatant demonstration.

  But, now, what would he do? Calmly continue with this marriage or try to decide if there was a dignified way of extricating himself from his newly spoken vows?

  Perhaps the fault was not entirely Faith’s. Perhaps he had begun this marriage with false expectations, thinking it would be a quiet, unemotional, dignified relationship, much like the one his parents had shared.

  In his ignorance, Griffin had merely assumed he and Faith would eventually settle into a life that included mutual respect, shared values, and warm, yet restrained, companionship.

  Now he knew better. He realized the moment he had truly claimed her as his own last night that would be impossible. Not because she was a virgin, which had shocked the hell out of him, but because her passionate and heated response had fired his blood beyond rational thought.

  Griffin had felt so strongly the need for physical distance between them last night partly because of that response. In all the years, he had never been deliberately cruel to a woman. It went against his nature to be harsh with those who were weaker and more vulnerable.

  Last night he had clearly seen the look of pain and the shimmer of tears in Faith’s eyes. He had heard her statements of genuine regret. Yet he had stormed from the bedchamber, unable to forget that he had been duped into this marriage.

  Did not every man have the right to expect honesty from his wife?

  Drumming his fingers slowly on the table, Griffin pondered this question and was forced to admit that he had not been completely honest with Faith on the matter of his son. She believed the boy was the product of an earlier marriage, and he had not bothered to correct that mistaken assumption because it had been far easier than trying to explain the truth.

  Was his sin not as great as his wife’s? Griffin slapped his palm on the table and quickly suppressed the thought. His actions were not in question at the moment.

  Maybe in time they could learn to work things out between them satisfactorily. Griffin wasn’t entirely convinced, but he was certainly astute enough to realize it couldn’t be accomplished if they were apart.

  His mind made up, Griffin stalked to the connecting bedchamber and yanked open the door. Faith, in the act of donning her traveling cloak, turned with a startled gasp. She dismissed her maid with a nervous nod, then straightened to face him.

  “The Viscountess of Dewhurst does not ride in a hired coach,�
�� he announced in his best aristocratic voice. “I will leave my carriage and driver at your disposal.”

  “How will you return home?” A worried frown creased her brow. “Or do you intend to stay in town?”

  “I will return to the country. ’Tis a fine day, perfect for a good, long ride on horseback.” He couldn’t help the self-deprecating grin that settled on his face. “I find that my stomach often objects if I travel too long in an enclosed vehicle.”

  The first real smile of the morning flashed across Faith’s face. Griffin was surprised to realize how glad he was to see it.

  “You were captain of a sailing vessel for many years,” she said, “yet you suffer an upset stomach from the motion of a vehicle?”

  “A ship is a far different conveyance than a poorly sprung coach,” he replied gruffly.

  “Yes, of course.” He saw the wide smile she tried to hide behind her hand. “I thank you for your generosity, my lord.”

  “I’m not being generous. I’m being practical.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The smile instantly vanished. Faith frowned and flushed deeply, casting her eyes down to her hands.

  “I do however have one favor to ask of you.”

  “Yes?” She looked up into his eyes and he could see she was very confused.

  “I cannot abide being ‘my lorded’ by you.”

  “I see. I’m sorry.”

  She sounded almost meek, not at all like the woman he knew.

  “In the future, would you please address me by my name, not my rank.”

  “If you wish”—she hesitated, then smiled slightly—“Griffin.”

  He nodded with approval. “I have given you the protection of my name, the dignity of my rank, and the security of my fortune.” He smiled at that last bit, knowing he would also be putting Faith’s funds to use in restoring his family’s property.

  “I am not unaware of the advantages of our marriage. Nor am I ungrateful.” She gave a particularly tight tug on the strings of her cloak as she tied a large bow at her throat to secure the garment, then picked up her gloves and reticule. “I thank you for the use of your carriage. I shall make certain it is returned the moment after I reach Mayfair Manor.”