by Cheryl Bolen
As surprising as was his proposal, her prompt acceptance surprised him even greater. Of course, she did not care for him as a woman cares for a man. She had just confessed that her reason for wanting to marry was to gain financial security. He cautioned himself to take her acceptance for what it was, not to read anything more into it than she was willing to concede.
Of course, he wished to read more into it. His separation from Carlotta had underscored how deeply he valued her. How deeply he loved her. Though he had come to the conclusion he could not live without her, he had no intention of begging for her hand.
Until he was alone with her, and his words had betrayed what was within his heart.
When she had uttered those words that made him the happiest of men, he fought his immediate urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her senseless. “I . . . desire to take care of you and Stevie for as long as I live.”
She nodded, her dark lashes sweeping low. “Because of what happened in The Peninsula.”
“Yes. It's my responsibility.”
“Then . . . you're not asking that I . . . that I be a true wife to you?”
Yes, yes, God in heaven, yes! He wanted her as his wife more than he had ever wanted anything. But to let her see into his soul was to admit to the long standing of his desire, to admit he had coveted her even when she was another man's wife. He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. “I would, quite naturally, wish to some day sire an heir, but I shall never force you, Carlotta.” He drew in his breath. “I would hope that one day you will willingly come to me.”
* * *
Carlotta's thoughts swirled in an explosion of emotions. The Earl of Rutledge had offered her his hand in marriage! Since the day she had arrived in Bath so many years ago, Carlotta's chief goal had been to snare a husband. Yet she had never dreamed that husband would be rich and titled. Marrying Lord Rutledge would easily solve all her problems. She would never again have to worry about unpaid debts or be forced to do without. No doubt, she could have every poetry book her heart desired. And she could put the vicious gossips behind her. Who would dare malign the wife of an earl? But the best aspect of becoming Lord Rutledge's wife was that she would never be lonely again. She and the earl and Stevie could become a happy family, something she had never thought she wanted but which now seemed fiercely important.
Never mind that he wasn't Gregory Blankenship. Never mind that she had no love to give him. She would do her best to make him a good wife. She looked into his smoldering eyes. “I vow you will never regret your choice, my lord. I shall do everything in my power to make you a good wife.”
“My lord? I beg that you call me James.”
She nodded. “I'm grateful to have the chance to make you a fine wife, James.”
His face came closer to hers. She smelled his sandalwood scent and peered at the dark stubble on his lean cheeks. He came closer, and his lips lightly brushed against hers.
She took a deep breath, then pressed herself into him, her arms closing around his back as he drew her more tightly into his arms, and his lips softly touched hers.
Then the intensity of his kiss deepened. She allowed the seam of her lips to open, but before she felt his tongue, he pulled away.
His breath was harsh. He met her gaze. “Would you object to a speedy wedding, my dear?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I shall procure a special license as swiftly as possible.”
She smiled. “Stevie will like that. When you were gone, he told me he wanted me to marry you.”
His lordship—her betrothed—smiled. “And what did you have to say to that?”
“I can honestly say I had never given the thought consideration. I've lied to you before, James. You know that. But in this one instance you must believe I never set out to capture you.”
He laughed. “It's not likely you'd wish to make a conquest of a man you detested.”
“I don't detest you, James.”
His finger ran along her aquiline nose. “Not now, perhaps, but you did when I first came to Bath.”
She laughed. “I suppose you're right, my lord.”
“James.”
“James,” she whispered. “You do believe I don't hate you any longer?”
“I do. I also know you don't love me.”
She refused to lie to him. “But I shall endeavor to please you in every way I can.”
Would she have to share his bed? She had heretofore only been bedded by men she loved. And she did not love the Earl of Rutledge.
A pity his life would be wasted on the likes of her. He deserved a woman who would love him as thoroughly as she had loved Gregory.
Yet she loved herself and her son too much to deny the earl. In fact, she would do anything in her power to keep him.
And to keep him from learning about her sordid past and canceling the wedding. “I beg that we marry as soon as possible, my . . . James.”
His warm eyes sparkled when he smiled at her words. “We shall, my dear.”
With the exception of Gregory, whom she had come to realize had never loved her, men had always fallen at Carlotta's feet. But James Rutledge did not fall at her feet—nor could she ever envision him doing so. First of all, James knew her—and her faults—too well. He could not possibly love her. His proposal was made out of sheer duty, duty to take care of the family of the man whose death he had caused.
Nevertheless, she would see to it the noble lord never regretted his decision to ask for her hand.
* * *
The following day she did not see James at all. He had gone to London to get the special license. 'Twas just as well he was gone. She had much to do in preparations for the wedding; yet, despite her pleasant anticipation of becoming Lady Rutledge, Carlotta was plagued with a nagging fear the marriage would never take place. In London, her betrothed could learn that she was Gregory's whore.
While Carlotta apprised Stevie, then Peggy, of the earl's proposal, a gloomy cloud settled over her. She lost her appetite, and her stomach seemed to plummet low enough to tread upon. She withheld her excitement. How could she rejoice her good fortune when at that very moment his lordship could be preparing to cry off from a grave misalliance? It would only take one chance meeting for him to learn of her great sin.
Her heart pounded, and she wrung her hands while working with Peggy on the gown she would wear for their wedding.
“Oh, madame, just think!” Peggy exclaimed. “Ye'll be Lady Rutledge. I knew ye were a fine lady that first day ye rescued me.”
“I implore you not to attach too much significance to Lord Rutledge's offer,” Carlotta said. “He can still cry off.”
Peggy harrumphed. “He'll not do that, I warrant. I've seen the way he looks at ye.”
Carlotta sighed. If only Peggy were right. But Carlotta knew better. Lord Rutledge's affection for her was no greater than was hers for him.
Though there was no love, she thought warmly, there was between them something that in some ways was stronger. With Stevie, they would be a family. A true, caring family. For though Lord Rutledge did not love her, he cared for her.
Somehow, she muddled through the long day. Night came, and she anxiously awaited him.
He did not come.
She did not sleep. He's found out. He would never even bother to return to Bath. A peer of the realm was not obliged to cry off with a mere whore.
Oddly, the thought of never seeing James again hurt. It was as painful as losing her chance to become Lady Rutledge. More so, even.
Throughout the night, she thought of him and of how close they had become. It wasn't love, of course, but it was something she treasured.
And she would miss it. Tears filled her eyes; she turned into her pillow and sobbed for her lost lord.
The following morning, he came. Though she looked wretched from her lack of sleep, she took pains in dressing before she happily rushed downstairs to greet him.
* * *
The couple wed by spe
cial license in Bath Cathedral that afternoon. Peggy stood up with Carlotta, and James's valet stood up with him. Stevie, who could barely contain his delight, was the only guest in attendance.
When James slipped an emerald ring on her finger and kissed her at the conclusion of the ceremony, Carlotta drew a deep sigh of relief. They were wed, and no one could ever void the marriage. Though spared from her worst fear, Carlotta was swamped with guilt. She had deprived James of the wife he deserved. For he should have a loving wife. Not only that, it was not fair to saddle him with a fallen woman. Carlotta fleetingly thought of him marrying someone else, someone worthy. Oddly, she grew jealous of the mythical woman. She would have been beautiful. Of course. And quite likely of good birth. Without a doubt, James could have taken his pick of any maiden in the kingdom. Any unspoiled woman.
Carlotta's fingers coiled.
Even though their marriage was secure now, she had no intentions of allowing the earl—her husband, now—to learn of her past. She could never face him were he to know. It was bad enough that he knew what a wicked mother she had been all these years.
She planned to make up to Stevie for that. She had a great deal of making up to do.
But first, she must get her husband away from Bath, where he was sure to learn that she had been Gregory's mistress.
James had arranged for them to be served their bridal meal at the Sheridan Arms Hotel. With Stevie on her lap, she and James rode in the Rutledge barouche to the hotel.
I must convince him to leave Bath. Carlotta had but that single thought in her troubled mind.
They feasted and toasted each other with bubbling champagne. James faced her, his hand gripping the stem of the glass. “To our happy family.”
The thought warmed her. She looked at Stevie's beaming face, then she turned back to her husband, met his smiling gaze, and lifted the glass to her lips.
* * *
James had never seen a more beautiful bride than his Carlotta. It was the first time he had seen her wear a color other than a shade of purple. Her gown was ivory, with lavender ribbons gathered behind her and draping from her train, as well as from her sheer headdress.
When she had come to stand beside him, his hands and knees began to shake like a rumbling volcanic eruption while at the same time he swelled with a heady sense of possession. She's mine.
He had never been happier than he was at that moment.
The happiness stayed with him as he sat at the elegant table in the Sheridan Arms dining room, Carlotta at his side.
One day she will truly be mine, he thought.
Chapter 11
With Stevie between them, the newlyweds walked back to Monmouth Place from the Sheridan Arms.
Stevie looked up at his mother, his eyes squinting in the sun. “Peggy said you and Uncle James have important matters to attend to when we get home, and she and the groom will take me and Bwownie to that park on the other side of the wiver.”
“Sydney Gardens,” Carlotta said as she and her husband exchanged amused glances.
“Of course you're welcome to stay with us, lad,” James said with a wink, “but I daresay it will be as interesting as watching your great-grandmother read the Bible.”
Carlotta giggled. How very well her husband understood both her grandmother and her son!
The boy skipped ahead. “I'd wather wide my pony.”
“Just as I thought,” James said. “Since you'll now be a master to the groom, it's best you learn his name. It's Jeremy.”
Oh dear, Carlotta thought. Another name with the Rs her son was unable to pronounce. At first she had been concerned that, at six, Stevie could not speak more plainly, but then she remembered when her brother was a lad he had spoken exactly the same as Stevie. By the time he was ten, though, her brother spoke perfectly.
Carlotta saddened at the thought of him. Like Stephen, her brother had died in The Peninsula. Her sweet brother Andrew. Her heartbeat accelerated at the memory of her double loss: Andrew and Stephen. She remembered, too, how wretched had been her journey home from The Peninsula. She had been so forlorn, and the babe had cried so the entire voyage. She remembered that icy fear that she would bury him, too. Then there had been that gut-wrenching relief to give the baby to Gran.
Carlotta glanced down at her son and realized James had replaced her fear of her child with fear for him. She vowed to repay James's many kindnesses.
Once they were at the house, Peggy assisted Stevie into riding clothes, and with Jeremy, took the boy to Sydney Gardens.
Carlotta and James sat on the sopha in the drawing room, and she nervously turned to face him.
“My secretary has seen to it that announcements of our nuptials appear in the Bath newspaper as well as in the London Times,” James said.
Her stomach flipped. How many people reading the announcement would know of her indiscretion? It only took one person to impart the news to her husband. Even if he didn't love her, James would be crushed were he to learn of her scorned past. The dear man deserved better.
I must get him away from Bath.
James took her hand and covered it with his own. “Now that I'm fairly confident Stevie has adjusted well to his new surroundings, it's time we procure a nurse for him. I pray you have no objections to my secretary beginning the search.”
Carlotta nodded. “You will now have as much say in my son's affairs as I, for you have chosen to become a father to him.”
It was comforting that she would be able to share the grave responsibility of raising a child. Her marriage would liberate Carlotta from the many burdens that had weighed down her feeble shoulders for far too long. There were other reasons, too, that made her thankful to have wed James. She would always have him to share everything with. They were, indeed, compatible and enjoyed many of the same things. He even had an affinity for poetry—not as great as hers, of course—but it was another brick in the cornerstone of their marriage. What they shared might not be love, but in many ways it was far more satisfying.
She looked up at her husband and sighed. “Before I know it, my son will have tutors, then he'll be going off to school, and I'll wonder what became of my little boy.”
James squeezed her hand. “Time passes all too quickly.”
“Which reminds me,” she said, disengaging her hand from his and rising to her feet. “I've got a wedding present for you.”
“You shouldn't have . . .”
“It's not anything money can buy,” she said. “It's something from the heart.”
Coloring over her choice of the word heart, Carlotta raced upstairs then came back down with a piece of velum in her still-gloved hand. “I've copied a poem for you. A poem that I believe speaks to us,” she said softly. She came to stand before him and with shaking hand offered him the paper, then nervously sat beside him as he began to read. She suddenly felt as if she had thrown off all her garments and sat naked before him.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may;
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times will succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
To her great surprise, James's eyes moistened as he read. Her heart felt smothered as she pressed her hand to his. Simpatico. That's what they were.
He lifted her hand to his lips and sweetly kissed it. “Because we're not in the first blush of youth, each day of our marriage will be more precious,” he said.
She watched him through bleary ey
es and nodded. “I shall never regret marrying you, and I pray you'll feel the same.” She truly meant the words. She had never been more comfortable with a man. Not with Stephen. Not with Gregory. But with this man whose honor bound him irrevocably to her, she would find some measure of the happiness that had alluded her for as long as she could remember.
He seemed uncomfortable with her heart-felt words and was quick to change the topic of conversation. “Now that you've allowed me to be a part of your life, I suppose we'll have to buy our own home in Bath. You, my dear, have married a very wealthy man. Permit me to allow you to make any selections you like, my lady.”
My lady! How strange it sounded to be addressed thus. And how undeserving she was. After the shock of hearing herself addressed as a countess, she remembered her husband's suggestion. Now is the time for me to act. She would have to use all the feminine charms she possessed.
She set a gentle hand on her husband's forearm. “Before . . . before we married, I thought living in the country would be to withdraw from living. But now that we're married, I'm longing to make a home for us away from the distractions of a large city like Bath. The prospect of the two of us beginning our married life with only each others' companionship entices me.”
“You're saying you want to live at Yarmouth Hall?” His voice was without emotion, his face inscrutable.
She cast her thick eyelashes downward. “If you have no objections, my lord.”
“James,” he said curtly.
* * *
She looked up into his eyes. “James, dearest.”
Her words very nearly undid his forced composure. “Nothing could make me happier than taking you and Stevie to Yarmouth Hall.”
“'Twould be like a honeymoon,” she said in a tentative voice. “I can think of no better way to get to know you than to see you surrounded by your home and servants—and to keep you all to myself.”
She spoke almost as if she feared sharing him with others in Bath society, but they had never mixed with another soul here—something he had always found peculiar. Even today, her wedding day, Carlotta had not wanted a single friend in attendance. Only her faithful, ill-bred maid.