"Your Grace," she murmured, her voice amazingly steady, given the churning in her stomach and her lack of breath.
"Miss Jamison," he said as he bowed before her. His lips curled up a fraction in what some might consider a smile. He held out his arm. One dark brow arched as he waited.
Exquisite civility had returned, though the unrelenting gaze of the insolent man who had kissed her remained.
Despite the tension gripping his gut, Richard felt a smile tug at his lips as her eyes met his with a glimmering challenge, the gold buried within the green reflecting the flames.
Had he truly expected fits of female hysterics? Fluttering lashes as she fell into a faint? From the woman who had dared to storm his home and toss his marriage offer back in his face?
Not that he'd actually offered her marriage, his conscience nagged him. No, he had announced she would wed him in two days, as if she were an underling hired to carry out his commands.
Yet here she was with her head held high, placing her hand upon his arm without hesitation. As she walked by his side to stand before the vicar, Richard found his admiration soaring, which made his arm clench beneath her palm.
He did not want to feel anything for this woman.
Certainly not admiration, or pity.
Definitely not the desire that plagued him still, an aching awareness of her standing beside him, the faint scent of roses bathing her hair. His skin grew hot, then cold again, his emotions racing from rage to resignation.
He tried to attend to the moment, but all he could think about was the woman at his side. That she was lovely, he could not deny, yet she also appeared so young, so vulnerable, standing beside him, the slightest tremor shaking her hands, the beading on her gown glimmering in the candlelight, reflecting the burnished gold of her hair.
How could he want this woman?
By rights, he should hate her, and he probably did.
But he also wanted her, had wanted her from the first moment he'd laid eyes upon her. He should be grateful, he supposed, that he felt some lust for the woman to whom he would soon be shackled for life. After all, she would be the mother of his children, should he ever choose to bed her. Was she a party to this treachery? Or a sacrifice to her father's ambition?
The long case clock tolled the half hour. His eyes downcast, cheeks covered in sweat, Geoffrey took his position at Richard's side. Her father cast Richard a wide-lipped smile, as if they were all one happy family gathered for a feast.
He flattened his palms against his thighs to keep from strangling the bastard where he stood.
That pleasure would have to wait, at least for the moment.
The vicar was mouthing the words that would bind Richard to this woman for the rest of his life, this beautiful, brave woman who faced him boldly, unwavering eyes meeting his, and all he could think was he did not want a wife.
Then it was over, as quickly as it began.
Only moments before the room was silent, save for the vicar's monotonous voice droning on and on. Now everyone seemed to be speaking at once. His brother welcoming Richard's wifehis wife!-into the family. Her aunt, hugging her while weeping all over her shoulder. The vicar offering his congratulations.
Her father walked over to where Richard stood, slapped him on the back. "Beautiful ceremony, eh, son?"
Truly, the man did not recognize his danger.
Hands clenching, the muscles in his legs tightening with splendid tension, Richard smiled. "Geoffrey, would you please be so kind as to escort-" Good God, he had to clench his jaw to push the words past his teeth, "my wife out to the carriage? I would like a word with her parent in private."
"Please, call me Thaddeus," the man said, the pink in his cheeks matching his waistcoat. "Or Papa. I rather like the sound of that"
"Yes, I am sure you do," Richard said, keeping his voice soft, relishing the moment at hand and the anger pushing the blood through his veins. "Lest you forget, I married your daughter for one reason and one reason only. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now let me explain yours. You are never to come near me or any member of my family ever again."
"Now see here," Jamison sputtered. "If you think to renege on our deal, I will tell the world about Alison-"
Richard grabbed him by his over-starched cravat and hauled him off his feet. "If you so much as whisper her name in your dreams, I will know it. My vengeance will be fast and furious. I will crush you beneath my boot like the worm that you are. I will throw your daughter to the wolves like yesterday's trash. I will institute a very public, very ugly, divorce. And if you think I won't, then try me. For I would have nothing left to lose, which would make me very dangerous indeed." He leaned in toward the man. "Now, have I made myself perfectly clear?"
A blood-red flush stained the man's cheeks, but he pursed his lips and nodded his assent.
"And one other thing," Richard said, flexing his hands as he thrust the bastard away.
Jamison rubbed his fingers over his throat. "What's that, son?"
"Never call me son again or I will be forced to kill you for the insult."
Leah embraced her aunt one last time as they said their farewells at the curb. The urge to cling to Emma's shoulders and never let go was strong, but she forced herself to step back. "Please, Aunt, do not weep. I will visit you often, and you must call upon me at my new home"
"You are right, of course," Emma said, touching the back of her hand to her brow. She raised her tear-stained gaze to the duke's. "You will treat my niece with kindness, my lord?"
He did not correct her mistaken address, a small act of compassion that brought a faint smile to Leah's lips.
"I assure you, madam, she will have my utmost respect and attention," he said with a bow before handing Leah into the waiting conveyance, then hauling himself in behind her.
The door swung shut with a resounding thump.
"Your brother will not accompany us?" Leah heard the breathless catch in her voice, but with each passing second, she was finding it more difficult to control her spiraling tension.
She was alone in a dimly lit carriage with a man-not just any man, but her husband! Heading toward his home. Where they would be alone. In the dark. In his bedchamber.
Dear heavens, what had she done?
"Geoffrey will ride ahead to ensure all is ready for our arrival." His large presence loomed heavily on her senses as he sprawled on the bench opposite hers, his too-long legs touching her knees, his booted feet resting against her slippers.
The feeble light from the single lantern cast unearthly shadows over the hard, chiseled lines of his jaw, the curve of his sensuous lips, the dark, dangerous glint in his eyes.
The coach was too small. There was not enough air. She slid along her bench until her shoulder touched the wall.
His dark brows arched up. "Leah, I assure you, there is no need to fear me ""
She forced a little laugh, though it sounded more brittle than the scornful tone she had hoped to achieve. "I do not fear you, sir. Nor have I given you leave to use my Christian name"
"As we are now wed," he murmured, his dark eyes studying her face, as if he would memorize every inch, every curve. "It would seem a trifle odd to stand on formality, at least when we are private. But if you prefer, shall I address you as Your Grace?"
Your Grace? No, she was simple Miss Jamison, not the Duchess of St. Austin, but it could not be a dream.
She wore his ring on her finger. A lovely gold band.
"Yes, I would prefer it," she said, twisting her hands in her skirts. This conversation was inane, but she could think of nothing of import to say. All she could think was she had made a dreadful mistake. She would love him, she already knew it.
She was in very great danger. She had to fight her perilous attraction to this man. She had to protect her heart.
The coachman called to the horses and gave a quick snap of the reins. The sudden lurch of the vehicle as it rolled into motion stirred the queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Before she could think to utter a protest, the duke closed the distance between them, captured her trembling hands between his palms. Though they both wore gloves, she was well aware of the strength of his fingers, of his powerful grip and the heat of his skin, which sparked an answering heat in her belly.
"Your Grace," he said, his lips pushing together in a tight line, as if he were fighting a grin. "We are not the first to wed out of duty and honor and family obligation. We surely will not be the last. We must find a way to move forward from here"
It was a perfectly reasonable, rational thing to say.
"I would prefer to find a way out," she grumbled, which was not quite as reasonable, nor even slightly rational, but he had hold of her hands and he was gazing at her through his intensely disturbing, devil-may-care eyes and his beguiling scent was wrapping around her. Then he did the most despicable thing yet.
He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers over her skin. His eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her lips and she knew ... he would kiss her again. She meant to lean backward, but she moved forward, her eyes drifting shut.
He was making a grave mistake.
Even though he recognized this truth, Richard could not stop himself from lowering his head and tasting her lips, lightly tracing her teeth with his tongue, waiting until she invited him in with a soft, little sigh that made his body go instantly hard.
He forced himself to keep his hands on her back, only her back, as he drew her closer, breathed her scent of roses and lotion, felt the warmth of her breath against his lips. And now he knew. It was not the whisky that had made him kiss her.
Chapter Seven
The carriage rolled to a stop before he could deepen the kiss, before passion swept away reason and he found himself taking his wife, his virgin wife, in a cold, dark carriage with no thought to her pleasure or his peace of mind.
His pulse marched swiftly to the beat of his heart. He lifted his hands away from her person, threw himself back against the stiff leather squabs. Uncomfortable tension clenched his legs as he watched the slow dawn of awareness creep into her eyes. As passion waned, their amber-green softness darkened with the glimmer of some strong emotion. A burgundy flush spread over her cheeks, drifting down her neck, drawing his gaze to the rapid rise and fall of her bosom as she fought to catch her breath.
"Do not kiss me again," she said, brushing her palms down her arms, as if she could wipe away the heat of his hands from her skin. "And do not touch me "
"Do you intend to deny us both the pleasures of our marriage bed?" Why he said it, he did not know, as he had no intention of ever bedding her-though the heavy ache in his groin gave truth to that lie. Now that he thought about it, why the hell not?
He might not have wanted a wife, but he had one. Should he not reap the benefits that went along with it? Had he not paid for it with his pride? With his manhood? With his very soul?
Besides, it was time he had an heir. He couldn't chance the estates falling into Geoffrey's hands. That fool would run them into the ground, if he didn't lose them at the gaming tables first. Richard could not allow that to happen. His duty was to secure the title and property for future generations of Wextons.
But what if she were in league with her treacherous father?
"If you wanted pleasure," she said, her voice shaking, whether from fury or desire he could not tell, "you should have married for love, not for money."
He laughed when he really wanted to sneer, not at her, but at himself as the truth became stunningly clear. She was an innocent victim in her father's vicious scheme, for naught but a naive innocent--or an untried youth would ever believe love, if it even existed between a man and a woman, was a basis for marriage. A feeling akin to hate, or perhaps it was guilt clawed at his throat, churned in his gut. He did not want to believe it, but he did. He wanted to hate her, but he could not.
She did not deserve it. Nor did she deserve his anger and resentment. For wasn't she also trapped in a marriage she did not choose?
Good God, what a mess. What a bloody, miserable mess.
He ran his hands over his face, then through his hair.
Before he could speak, the door popped open.
A footman in full livery lowered the steps.
Richard lunged from the carriage, turned to help Leahhis wife, goddammit-to the ground.
The sound of laughter brought his gaze to the house, where every window was ablaze with hundreds of candles, the rooms filled to overflowing with lords and ladies in elegant dress.
How had he forgotten Rachel's ball?
What had seemed a good idea at the time-to waylay the gossip regarding his hasty marriage by boldly throwing his nuptials in society's face-now seemed a horrible punishment to the proud beauty who walked by his side. Of course, when he'd first conceived the plan, more whisky than blood had flowed through his veins, not to mention his untamed, savage fury. At her father, at Geoffrey, at himself and at his situation.
He wrapped his hand around Leah's arm, intent now upon swinging around the side of the house to the gardens, where they could enter through the lower levels. From there, a short passage led to the stairs of the private apartments, enabling them to avoid the crowd. But his brother was awaiting their arrival.
Geoffrey pulled open the front door and waved his hand at the butler, who bellowed, "The Duke and Duchess of St. Austin."
"We need dance only one dance," her husband, evil, wicked man that he was, whispered so close to her ear, his lips tickled the tender skin on the curve of her neck. "Then we may retire."
All Leah wanted was to seek the privacy of her chambers, wherever those chambers might be, but she donned a bright smile as if she were the happiest of brides on the happiest day of her life as he led her into the house, then into the ballroom where three or four hundred people clustered together, all staring at her. What else could she do? Turn and run from the room?
No one spoke. No one moved. Not even the servants, their trays of champagne suspended before them, as if hanging in air.
She might have found their wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions heartily amusing, if it weren't for the bottomless feeling in her stomach or the dizziness swirling through her head. The room was astoundingly large, with a domed ceiling three levels high. Pillars of incense burned in the corners. Light from the chandeliers shimmered off the gilding and marble, giving the room a fairy-tale glow.
Were she a young girl still in the schoolroom, she would imagine the dark, dangerous man striding along at her side was an enchanted prince sweeping her away to his kingdom.
The reality was not so pretty, nor so easily explained.
She could not even dredge up the energy to hate him for thrusting her into this awkward situation. No, she hated him for kissing her once again, for making her want him ... need him ... love him ... when he felt none of these things.
A lovely woman dressed in peach gossamer silk glided across the room to greet them. Her honey blond hair gleamed in the candlelight. Delicate ringlets framed her perfect oval face.
As she moved, she motioned with her hands and the music resumed, breaking the silence that had fallen over the crowd. The ladies, at least, tried to hide their covert gazes and whispers behind their fans. The men simply gaped without care, their voices blending in with the din from the orchestra.
"St. Austin, you wretched beast," the woman said as she stood before Richard. Her skin seemed aglow with the same peach-colored hue of her sensuously flowing gown. Her smile never wavered, but there was an expression about her eyes Leah found disconcerting. "Why did you not you tell me you were bringing home a wife this evening? Are you not even going to have the good grace to introduce us?"
The woman did not pause long enough for Richard to reply before turning to Leah. "Oh, never mind him. We need not stand on formality and convention, as we are sisters, you and 1. I am Rachel, Duchess of St. Austin. Oh, dear" She gave a delicate laugh. "Now you are the Duchess of St. Austin, which makes me th
e dowager duchess. I always think of much older ladies when I hear that word. I never imagined it applied to me. I fear this will take some getting used to"
For a terrible moment, Leah did not know what to say.
Good heavens, she did not even know how to style her own name, so much had changed.
"I am Leah," she finally said, choosing not to attach a surname or a title. She ignored the rumble emanating from the man beside her that sounded decidedly like a low-pitched growl or a burst of strangled laughter.
"Welcome to the family, dear" Rachel clasped Leah's hands in hers. She gave her fingers a firm squeeze, then released her just as swiftly. "It shall be so wonderful having a sister in the house .. ." She continued to speak, but Leah heard not a word.
She was weary, her legs were starting to shake, and the heat of the candles and the crowd rushing to meet them spreading a feverish flush over her skin. Certainly it had nothing to do with the "wretched beast" of a man hovering much too close by her side.
Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, coldly detached, her eyes sought him out again and again. He returned her gaze with his dark stare, his expression telling her nothing of what he was thinking or of his emotions. He was so proudly elegant, so beautifully noble, and she was a plain country miss. She did not belong in this world. She would never fit in. Oh, she did not doubt her own self-worth, she was confident in her abilities, but she knew nothing about moving through this level of society.
She had tried to warn him, but he had refused to listen.
To fulfill some unknown obligation to her father, he had married her. His honor was intact. Now she had to find a way to set him free. But what could she do?
A distant memory started to tease her.
Snatches of conversations overheard as a child.
She chewed on her lips as she tried to remember, the bottom of her belly aching. Her eyes stung, but she blinked back her tears. Once she had accepted that she must marry him, she had started to dream of their future together. A future filled with children, happiness, and love. Especially love.
A Dangerous Man Page 5