The Proud Viscount

by Laura Matthews

Nancy did indeed look exhausted, with dark pouches under her eyes and a pallid face. Jane knew her sister was, at this moment, worried for Jane’s sake. Rossmere was largely unknown to Nancy, and he must seem as cool and unapproachable to her as he had to Jane originally. And there was the fear, of course, that Jane was only marrying him to protect her. Yet she stood straight and smiled as Jane entered the room.

  It seemed a pity to Jane that her brothers and other sister weren’t there for this important occasion. Gathering the whole family together would have taken far too long. She would have to write immediately and invite her siblings and their families home to meet Rossmere, certainly, but not until the bride and groom had a little time to adjust to each other.

  The vicar, an old friend of the family, was speaking quietly with Rossmere himself. The two men looked up as Jane moved toward them, gliding elegantly across the room. The Reverend Mr. Winston nodded his white head as though in approval. Rossmere regarded her intently, his face unsmiling. She reached her hand out to him and inconspicuously dropped the ring onto his palm. A flicker of surprise appeared in his eyes, followed by a minute shrug of his shoulders.

  “Shall we begin?” Mr. Winston asked.

  Jane allowed a moment for any member of the party to object before bringing her gaze to Rossmere’s face. “Yes. I think we’re all ready.”

  The vicar was possessed of a most sonorous voice. His manner of declaring the marriage ceremony, which Jane had had occasion to observe more than a dozen times, was impressive and heartening. One would have sworn he had the highest hopes for each couple joined together under his auspices; Jane and Rossmere were no exception. At the conclusion he beamed on them, his mustache bristling with goodwill.

  “A long and happy life together,” he said. “May you be blessed with many children and grandchildren.”

  “Thank you.” Jane couldn’t help but remember that the whole reason she hadn’t been able to marry Richard was precisely that. When Rossmere’s eyes caught hers, she had the distinct impression he was remembering the same thing. But she refused to look away from him and he took her hand in one of his strong ones.

  “We appreciate your agreeing to marry us on such short notice,” he said. “Lord Barlow has arranged for champagne to celebrate. I hope you’ll join us.”

  “Nothing would please me more than to drink a toast to the two of you. Lady Jane has long been a mainstay in our parish. I hope you’ll be living in the neighborhood.”

  “At Graywood for a while,” Jane said. “But eventually we’ll settle at Longborough Park in Sussex. Doesn’t your sister live somewhere in that area?”

  How simple it was to keep up a social discourse, even when her mind was on entirely different matters! She acknowledged the toasts and drank rather unsparingly of the champagne. Rossmere hovered close to her the whole time. He was amiable but projected a cool power that forced each of her family members to grant him his new place among them.

  Aunt Mabel, of course, was more than ready to welcome him into the bosom of the group. She made a point of addressing Jane coyly as Lady Rossmere, nodding happily at the successful conclusion of her endeavors. Jane hardly knew whether to thank her or scold her for her interference. It proved unnecessary to do either, since Aunt Mabel was far too excited to notice.

  Lord Barlow was far more skeptical about the viscount, though Jane realized that he was doing his utmost not to show it. He had said, “You’re a sensible girl and you’ll make the most of whatever situation you find yourself in, so I shan’t worry about you. I just hope this fellow appreciates you."

  Did he? Jane really had no idea. Certainly he didn’t value her as Richard had. But Richard was gone. She smiled at Nancy and took her sister’s cold fingers in her warm ones. “I’m glad you’ve been here with us for the ceremony, my dear, but it is time you were in bed. You’re burned to the socket, poor love.”

  Nancy nodded and withdrew her hand, offering it to Rossmere. “I wish you both very happy. You shall always have my gratitude, Lord Rossmere. If I can ever be of service to you, you have only to command me.”

  Rossmere grasped her hand firmly. “I could ask nothing more than that you rest until your strength is recovered. And that you believe I have every intention of taking the best possible care of your sister.”

  “I’m sure you shall,” came Nancy’s stout reply as she turned to leave.

  In time the vicar left, and Aunt Mabel went along to bed. Shortly afterward Jane found herself headed up the broad staircase alone. She would have to prepare for bed first, with Rossmere following after a further glass of champagne with her father. Tilly waited in the royal suite to help her out of her gown and to brush her hair. As she had been many times before, Jane was grateful that Tilly was not a giddy girl, prone to make teasing remarks on one’s wedding night.

  There would be gossip in the kitchen about the haste of the marriage, of course, but that didn’t bother Jane. Curiosity about the family they served was bound to raise speculation on any number of issues, and if her own wedding helped to keep it from her dear sister for a while, so much the better. Tilly could be trusted to be as discreet as one wished, without infuriating the other servants.

  Jane fingered the lacy nightdress she had slipped on with Tilly’s help. Earlier in the day Mabel had offered it to her privately, wrapped up in crinkly paper with a ribbon. “I had one made for each of you years ago,” she explained, a smug purse to her lips. “Often I’ve wondered if I would ever have a chance to give you yours.”

  It was a lovely piece of work, the lace as intricate and beautiful as any Jane had seen. Far too precious to wear to bed, one would have thought. Jane would do so for her aunt’s sake, even though there were places where the pattern of the lace allowed a partial view of her body beneath. That seemed rather daring to Jane, since she had known Rossmere for such a short time. Until she remembered the night before and that they had just been declared husband and wife.

  They wouldn’t have to consummate the union at this juncture, her rational mind insisted. Eventually he would want an heir, but there was plenty of time to get to know each other before that problem arose. Another part of her protested such an ascetic notion as that. Just the thought of Rossmere caused her body to respond with a growing ache. And she suspected that the viscount was more than ready to undertake his husbandly duties.

  “Will you be needing anything else, milady?” Tilly asked as she set the hairbrush down with a slight clatter.

  “No, thank you. I’ll ring for tea in the morning. Or perhaps Lord Rossmere takes hot chocolate. Do you know?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s Martin who brings him his morning drink.”

  “Well, I suppose I’ll learn all those things in time. Good night, Tilly.”

  “Good night, Lady Jane, ah, Lady Rossmere. I wish you and his lordship happy.”

  The girl disappeared quickly from the room, leaving Jane in front of the mirror, her hair streaming thickly down her back over the beautiful white lace. Even in the dim light she could see the reflected swell of her breasts through the lace and wondered what Stephen would think of her displaying herself in such a manner. Would it please or disgust him? She was not, after all, a Madeline Fulton, who probably wore nothing but an emerald necklace for the viscount.

  She rose from the stool and walked toward the bed. Where did a bride wait? In the huge four-poster with the covers pulled up to her chin? That seemed so meek, so unadventurous. She could picture herself wearing a lace cap to match the nightdress, tied under her chin with a bow, and looking for all the world like an ailing spinster at her last prayers.

  As she stood by the bed debating, she felt a gust of air sweep across the floor and ruffle the hem of her gown. There was no other indication that a door had opened, but her eyes quickly swung to the door leading into the dressing room. Rossmere stood there, fully clothed, watching her. He reached up now to untie his neckcloth with an almost unconscious movement. The starched white linen came away in his hand and slid softly to t
he floor. “Would you prefer that I undress in the other room?” he asked, trying to decipher her bemused expression.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I feel rather... unfamiliar with you.”

  Jane watched him shrug out of the tight-fitting black swallowtail coat that had set off his shoulders so well. His shoulders looked even more impressive in the white waistcoat and shirt that were revealed. His black satin knee breeches looked suspiciously snug on his muscular thighs. Probably they were her fathers, since it was unlikely Stephen would have brought such full dress for a month’s country visit where no formal evening entertainments had been promised.

  “You could stop me when I reach a point that makes you feel alarmed,” he suggested. His fingers were already busy unbuttoning the white satin waistcoat. When he had removed it, he hung it on a chair back over his coat. “How would that be?”

  “That’s no way to treat those clothes. Especially if they’re my father’s,” she said, attempting a teasing note in her voice.

  “No, they’re your brother Samuel’s apparently. Martin found them in a trunk in the attic. No one else’s were large enough to fit.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Jane held her hand out for the shirt he was just tugging from his arm. In the pale candlelight of the cavernous room she could still see how broad his chest was and its growth of curly black hair. As she carefully folded the shirt, she raised her eyes to his and found him regarding her with acute interest. She’d forgotten how revealing the lace nightdress was. She held his shirt up against her chest.

  “You’ll crush it,” he protested, smiling, as he took it from her unresisting fingers. “Please don’t cover yourself. You look charming.”

  “It’s a rather daring garment. Aunt Mabel gave it to me as a wedding gift. I didn’t want you to be shocked.”

  “I don’t think you could shock me that way, but I may be mistaken.” He placed a hand on each of her upper arms and drew her closer to him. His eyes wandered down over the revealing lace, as his hands gently massaged the bare skin on her arms. After a moment he bent down and kissed her, lingering over the fullness of her lips, nibbling, teasing.

  Jane felt an instantaneous response run through her. The edge of alarm that had held her in its grip for several minutes was replaced by an erotic tension that seemed to spring full-blown at his touch. He pulled her body against his, and she could feel the tension in him, the hardness of his desire. And her arms automatically slipped around his waist, so that she clung to him.

  For a while they stood that way, savoring the closeness, knowing that in moments they could be fully touching skin to skin. Jane rested her head for a moment against the wiry hairs of his chest, fascinated by their roughness against her smooth cheeks. His hands moved down her back until they came to rest cupping her buttocks. A fresh thrill of arousal sprang up under his fingers. She suppressed a gasp.

  “Come,” he whispered in her ear. “I think you’re not as fastidious as you feared. A little desire goes a long way toward establishing a certain familiarity, does it not?”

  “Yes. Shall I wait for you in bed?”

  Jane scrambled into the four-poster and watched as he removed his knee breeches, his shoes and stockings, and the last undergarment that left him perfectly naked. He had a magnificent male body, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, with strong thighs and roughened hands. A thatch of thick black hair rode above his aroused manhood. Jane kept her eyes on him as he approached the bed. Her throat went suddenly dry.

  “I think it would be a great pity to crumple your beautiful lace nightdress,” he said as he stood looking down at her. “Perhaps if we were to remove it now, it would remain in perfect condition."

  Jane moistened her lips and nodded, holding her hands up so that he could lift the lacy confection over her head. He laid it aside with scarcely a glance, returning his gaze to her exposed body. Even the touch of his eyes did something to her, heightening the tension that held her body in its thrall.

  “Beautiful,” he said simply. He lifted the coverlet and followed the line of her body with his eyes. “How very lovely you are. As elegant undressed as you are fully clothed, my dear Jane.” He touched her cheek gently as he climbed in bed beside her. “You’re not fearful any longer, are you?”

  “No. Perhaps a trifle nervous.”

  “That’s understandable, on your wedding night. Here, lie down beside me.” He tossed the coverlet far down on the bed so the two of them lay naked and exposed to the warm night air. Slowly he ran his hands over her body, covering each area of skin with his touch. His hands glided over and then stopped on her breasts, remaining there to rub the rosy nipples into firmness. He rolled them between thumb and forefinger as a sensation blazed down her body to lodge deep within.

  His hands followed the trail of the sensation, kneading their way down her satin flesh to the forest of hair and beyond. Before she could even grasp the intensity of her reaction, his mouth had come to rest on one nipple. Again a shock of feeling raced down to meet the new sensations called forth by the hand that spread her legs apart. His lips encircled her nipple, massaging it, suckling it until it was like a cord to her interior, tugging on her very insides, the tension mounting, mounting, with each renewed assault.

  He had her legs spread apart and his fingers searched within the soft folds to unveil the entrance to her waiting body. His fingers rubbed a sensitive spot in their search, causing her to moan softly. In order to position himself above her, his mouth left her breast while his hand remained to guide his swollen manhood into the moist opening.

  The pleasure Jane had been experiencing was abruptly eclipsed by pain. Her moan of joy turned into a groan of hurt. Rossmere murmured something she didn’t hear.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whispered fiercely.

  “It will only be a moment. The maidenhead must be broken,” he explained, though his voice sounded far away.

  Jane was mainly aware of the thrusting, like a goat butting against a wall. Except that he was butting against her, and it was painful. “Ah,” she heard him say, an exclamation of satisfaction. She felt no relief. As he stroked through the destroyed maidenhead, each pass felt like scraping a raw wound. Really, this was not at all what she’d had in mind!

  With a shudder and a moan of pleasure he collapsed upon her, alternately kissing her lips and whispering endearments. He ran his fingers over her face with a kind of dazed delight. “How wonderful you are,” he breathed.

  Well, it was their wedding night, and at least one of them was pleased with the way things had gone. Jane reminded herself that she had reason to be grateful that Rossmere had married her. She reminded herself, also, that she had heard tales of painful initiations into marital relations. If she hadn’t expected something quite otherwise, she wouldn’t be so disappointed right now. Jane managed to caress her husband’s shoulder and kiss his cheek with a semblance of happiness.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said. “It’s been a hectic day for you. Sleep well, my dear.”

  Jane rolled over on her side away from him, but he managed to mold himself along the length of her, his warmth feeling oddly familiar. “Good night,” she said. Her voice disappeared into the vast, silent room.

  He was already asleep.

  Chapter 17

  Rossmere awoke as the light of dawn was growing steadily brighter. He had dreamed of Longborough Park, restored and inviting, with its rooms filled once again with music and laughter. There was a family there, children running through the halls and servants tidying up after them. He would have thought it a dream of his own boyhood except that he had been a solitary child. As one did in dreams, he knew that if he passed through the door of the master suite he would see himself, grown into manhood, as he was in real life. But he would see, also, the woman by whom he had produced all these noisy, happy children. Either the door resisted his efforts, or he was unwilling to make a strong push to gain this knowledge.

  Before he could determine which was the case, his
eyes blinked open and he found himself contemplating Lady Jane. She slept deeply. The sheet over her came up to her waist. She lay on her stomach so he could see only the smooth whiteness of her back. He was tempted to wake her, or to begin stroking the exposed flesh to arouse her for another erotic encounter, but he remembered that theirs was, after all, a marriage of convenience. Somehow it seemed to him that it would be greedy for him to expect a physical episode again so soon.

  Because her vulnerable beauty tempted him, he climbed cautiously out of bed and removed himself to the dressing room, gathering up his clothing along the way. A good gallop on Ascot would alleviate any tensions that were building up in him. It wasn’t simply that he would have liked another intimate interlude with his wife; it was that he suddenly had a wife. Surely that was the furthest thing from his mind when he came to Willow End. He had deemed himself a perpetual bachelor for many years now, and he had come to enjoy the privilege of solitariness it granted him. Was he going to feel comfortable living with this woman he hardly knew?

  The answer scarcely mattered, he decided as he tugged on his riding boots. He was going to be living with her no matter what. The thing to do was to establish his intention of maintaining a certain distance from the conjugal pairing. Not the kind of high-handed disappearing act John Parnham indulged in, of course. That was totally unnecessary. But Rossmere deemed it wise to illustrate from the start that he would keep a great deal of time for himself, for riding, managing his estate, doing whatever he pleased, essentially. Jane must learn from the start that he would not be at her beck and call.

  The house was still fairly silent as he descended the back stairs. He unlocked the door out into the summer garden and followed the path toward the stables. Things were more lively there. Barnes started the stable lads hopping at daybreak, since there was more than enough work to keep them busy before breakfast. When Rossmere entered the wooden building, it had already been swept clean of the hay spilled in the process of feeding the horses. He walked directly to Ascot’s loose box and rubbed the horse’s dark forehead.