He grinned. “Duly noted, my lord.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” I called, expecting my mother. She’d been in a happy twitter ever since learning I’d asked Barbara to marry me. It was a good thing that Barbara and I meant to spend our honeymoon in the country, or I suspected my mother would have watched us like a hawk, waiting for any sign her first grandchild was on its way. I’d confided as much to Barbara, who’d smiled a perfectly sinful smile and reminded me that a dutiful son would devote himself to obliging his mother.
But it was my father who ambled in. “Good morning, Ben. Looking merry as a marriage bell, I see.”
I grinned at him as Hawkins bowed himself out. “Yes, sir. Only another quarter hour, and we can set out for St. George’s.”
“It’s good to see a bridegroom so eager.” My father chuckled. “On my wedding day, I confess I was shaking in my boots.”
I’d been inspecting my appearance in the mirror, but at this I turned to face him. “That may be so, sir, but something tells me Barbara and I are going to have a very different kind of marriage.”
“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, I expect you will.”
He looked so solemn, he must have misconstrued my remark. “No, that isn’t what I mean. I mean every marriage is different, and it’s up to the people in it to decide what makes it a success or not. You and Mama are happy in your own fashion—I see that now, and I’m glad. But Barbara and I have already been through so much together, and want so many of the same things from marriage, how could I be anything today but eager?”
“How, indeed?” My father set a hand on my shoulder, and this time I didn’t mind in the least.
There was a flurry of motion behind us, and my mother came darting in. “Almost ready, Benny? Do be sure to wear a hat. There’s a breeze kicking up outside, and I should so hate for you to take a chill on today of all days.”
Barbara
It was a cozy, inviting room, the kind of room my mother would probably brand old-fashioned and insist on stripping of all its charm. The walls were paneled in mellowed oak, the scent of beeswax polish perfuming the air. A fire crackled in the hearth. And then, of course, there was the enormous carved half-tester bed, its whitework coverlet already turned down for the night.
Despite the harrowing circumstances of the past week, it was a measure of my faith in Ben that I felt no lingering sense of disquiet as I looked about me at the inn’s best chamber. Instead I was brimming with all the emotions a bride hopes to feel on her wedding night—excitement, curiosity and no small measure of anticipation.
“Well?” Ben closed the door behind him and stood with his back against it.
Taking in his ear-to-ear smirk, I couldn’t help grinning in response. “Well, what?”
Whatever ambivalence Ben had once felt about the institution of marriage or his suitability as a husband, he’d clearly overcome it. Heading to Lulworth for our honeymoon, we’d done such a poor job of keeping our hands off each other in the traveling chariot, we’d nearly thrown caution to the winds. Ultimately Ben had pushed me off his lap with a pained expression, rapped on the carriage roof and ordered the coachman to stop at the first respectable inn. I deserved a proper wedding night, he’d whispered in my ear—as if there were anything proper about the way he was looking at me now.
He reached up and untied his cravat, simultaneously toeing off his shoes. “Do you realize we’ve been married for a whole nine hours now?”
“It was a lovely ceremony, wasn’t it?” I said sweetly, pretending not to take his meaning. “Everyone seemed to enjoy the wedding breakfast.” Mama and Papa had been all smiles, the duke and duchess had been all smiles—even Helen and her two fiancés, past and present, had seemed genuinely happy for us. Cliburne had served as Ben’s groomsman, and at one point he’d lifted his glass in a toast, saying Ben had finally found a worthy sparring partner.
Ben shucked off his coat and tossed it on the floor. “Did they? I didn’t notice. I was too busy counting the minutes until we could leave.”
I gave a mock sympathetic nod. “Now that you mention it, you hardly touched your food this morning. Poor man, you must be famished. Perhaps I should ring for sandwiches.” I started toward the bellpull.
He’d been unbuttoning his waistcoat, but at this he crossed to me and pulled me into his arms. “I’m starved. But not for sandwiches.”
I met his smoky gaze with a look of perfect innocence. “Some cold chicken? A bowl of soup?”
His lips twitched. “You little tease. You know exactly what I want.” He kissed me. “I love you, Barbara.”
“And I love you.” I felt happier every time I said it. Perhaps people ended up with the mates they deserved—Helen got the smooth-talking dandy, and I got the man who prided himself on never having backed down from a fight. I set to work where he’d left off, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Just the same, I really think I should ring for something to eat.”
He glanced down at my busy hands then cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you?”
“Yes. You see, I’ve been suffering all day from the strangest empty feeling. You wouldn’t believe how powerfully I’ve been craving something to fill me up.”
I gave a squeal of surprise as Ben swept me off my feet and up into his arms. Grinning, he strode with me toward the bed. “Oh, I know how to remedy that.”
And he did. He really did.
* * * * *
In the mood for more historical romance? Then check out Alyssa Everett’s two previous novels, available now!
Lord of Secrets
Rosalie Whitwell has spent most of her life sailing the globe with her adventurous father, dreaming of the day she can settle in one place long enough to have a home and family of her own. When her father suffers a fatal heart attack in the middle of the North Atlantic, Rosalie turns in her panic to a fellow passenger—the cool, reclusive Lord Deal.
For years David Linney, Marquess of Deal, has avoided the society of others. Even so, he’s drawn to his lovely shipmate, like him, the victim of family tragedy.
As the voyage nears its end, Lord Deal is compelled to propose. But on their wedding night, Rosalie gets an unwelcome surprise: her handsome husband is strangely reluctant to consummate the marriage. Does she fall short of her groom’s expectations? Or is he hiding a secret past that only she can unlock?
Ruined by Rumor
After waiting five years for her fiancé to return from the war and marry her, Roxana Langley has been jilted! She may have longed for excitement, but this was not what she had in mind...
Who could possibly throw over a woman as beautiful and vivacious as Roxana? Certainly not Alex Winslow, the Earl of Ayersley, who has spent years trying in vain to forget his unrequited love. When he learns she’s been abandoned by her cad of a fiancé, he finds himself offering a shoulder for her to cry on. Comfort soon turns into a passionate kiss—and scandal when they are caught in an embrace.
Only one thing will save Roxana from certain ruination: marriage to the earl. The match may save her reputation, but responsible, tongue-tied Ayersley is a far cry from her dashing former fiancé. She’s convinced Ayersley is merely doing his duty...while he’s sure Roxana is still in love with another man. Are they trading one disaster for another?
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About the Author
Alyssa Everett grew up in Florida, where from an early age her favorite books typically had dukes in them. As a teen she worked in an amusement park, doing just about every kind of odd job a person can do, from collecting garbage to captaining an African boat cruise.
She met her future husband at Harvard University. They currently live with their three children and a springer spaniel in small-town Pennsylvania.
A Try
st with Trouble is her third Regency romance. Her first two Regencies, Ruined by Rumor and Lord of Secrets, are also available from Carina Press.
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ISBN: 9781426896378
Copyright © 2013 by Alyssa Everett
Edited by Deborah Nemeth
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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