by C. J. Archer
She lifted both arms and teased his hair, curling the lock at his ear around her finger. She gently pulled his head lower then stood on her toes. Her mouth was at his chin. His breath warmed her. It was just like that night again. The memory of their kiss slammed into her and she was back in London once more, being held by him, kissed by him beneath the shield of darkness. She wanted to feel what she'd felt that night. Wanted his arms surrounding her, his lips on hers, as soft as down, as heady as strong wine. Wanted him to caress her.
She pressed her hands to either side of his face to angle it down. She drew him closer until her mouth touched his. She parted her lips.
"Blast," he muttered, drawing back. He grasped her hands and lowered them to her sides, then, without looking her in the eye, he turned away. His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths. His head lowered.
He had rejected her. He didn't want her. Didn't like her in that way. What he felt for her was pity, that was all. He felt sorry for her living with Slade and Hislop. He did not want her as his mistress, even when she was offering herself to him.
She didn't want to look at his powerful shoulders sagging anymore, but she didn't want to turn to see Slade's reaction either. His plan was falling apart. She had tried to give herself to Oxley and failed. There was only question remaining now:
When would he make her pay for the failure?
Hughe drew in several deep breaths, but they failed to slow his rapidly beating heart. Even though he didn't face Lady Slade, her troubled eyes haunted him. He could still feel her hand in his, small and warm, trembling ever so slightly. She'd been frightened at first and reluctant. She wasn't throwing herself at him because she wanted to, but because Slade wanted her to. It would not go well for her if Hughe left and she had not secured him. Hislop would make sure of that. The thug had already marked her cheek. Next time, he would do something worse.
For the first time in his life, Hughe felt like events had spun out of his control. His pulse raced too fast, his head was dizzy with all the scenarios buzzing around inside. He was worried about Cat and he had no idea what Slade was up to. What did the cur hope to achieve by installing his sister-in-law as Hughe's mistress? Whatever it was, Hughe wouldn't let him succeed. He wasn't going to take Lady Slade as his mistress.
He was going to take her as his wife.
There was no other choice for a woman like her. Clearly Slade was not prepared to leave her alone. The prick could ruin her if he wanted to, and worse. Hislop looked like the sort of brute who would enjoy making her suffer for failing to entice Hughe into her bed. Slade seemed in earnest about crying foul too. Hughe's reputation could withstand accusations of abduction, but Cat's couldn't. She would never find another husband in good standing. No, there was only one way to save her from Slade that did not involve taking her as his mistress. It was to wed her.
He slowly turned, a stiff smile on his face. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly. He took her hand and dropped to one knee before her. She gasped. Slade and Hislop shuffled their feet. Hughe ignored them.
"My dearest lady," he began. Was that how it was done? He wasn't sure. He hadn't prepared a speech. He had known he would need to one day, but had hoped that time was months away, perhaps more if he could rein in his mother's matchmaking. "My dearest lady. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Just saying the words made his head ache.
"I, uh…"
"Say yes, you foolish girl." That was Slade. Hughe hardly heard him.
"But…are you sure, my lord?" she asked.
He laughed. God, no. He wasn't sure at all. So why the hell was he laughing? "Of course."
"Are you thick, girl?" cried Slade. "Agree to it before he comes to his senses."
"I am in full capacity of all my senses," Hughe said, more for Cat's benefit than Slade's. "I am in need of a wife. You are in need of a husband. I don't like young, silly girls. You seem sensible and I enjoy your company." All of that was true, he realized with a growing sense of satisfaction.
"In that case, yes," she whispered. "Yes, I will marry you, my lord. Thank you." Her fingers curled around his and held him gently but firmly. Claiming him.
He rose and offered her a fleeting smile that grew to a broad one when he saw the sheer relief in her eyes. Tears brewed in their depths, but he guessed they were happy ones. If he needed any more confirmation that he'd done the right thing, that was enough. She was free of Slade and Hislop.
He wondered if that had been Slade's plan all along—to be brutal to her to encourage Hughe's sympathies and stir his protective instincts. Then back him into a corner with no other way out but to offer marriage. Clever. Very clever. Hughe ought to call it all off and leave immediately, but he knew it would not go well for Cat if he did. Hislop looked like he wanted to hurt her.
Hughe linked his fingers with hers. "You're mine now," he murmured quietly so that only she could hear. "I'll protect you."
An errant tear escaped her left eye. She quickly swiped at it and gave him a wobbly smile.
"We'll leave tomorrow," he said. "Will you be ready by then, my dear?"
She nodded and slipped her hand from his. "I'll begin packing now." She gave an awkward curtsy, as if she didn't know what to do, and hurried from the great hall.
Hughe beckoned both Slade and Hislop with his finger. With a quizzical glance at one another, they obliged. Hughe bent his head forward, conspiratorially. Slade did too, to listen. Hislop did not. "If either of you go near her," he said, directing his entire attention to Hislop, "I will slice off your balls and feed them to the dogs."
Slade swallowed audibly. "You have my word, my lord! There is no reason for us to harm her. No reason at all! How could you think such a thing?"
Hughe didn't bother answering. He watched Hislop from beneath his lashes and curled his hand into a fist. He ought to punch him for what he'd done to Cat. But he simply turned his back and left. Retaliation would only bring more danger to her door, not Hughe's.
He went in search of his servants to advise them of his plans, but got only as far as the courtyard. He paused and blinked up at the bright yellow sun. Bloody hell. How had he reached this point? Mere weeks ago he'd been blissfully carefree. Now he was betrothed.
How his friends would laugh when he told them. How his mother would berate him for his choice.
***
Slade slapped Hislop on the shoulder. "It went better than I expected."
Hislop glared at him until Slade removed his hand. "Oxley is more of a fool than we thought."
"Indeed." Slade rubbed his hands together, thinking hard. "Yet he was menacing. Did you see that wild look in his eyes? I thought he'd kill you with his bare hands when you went to hit her. Pretending to hurt her was a stroke of genius."
"I wasn't pretending."
Slade eyed his man warily. He could well believe that Hislop would have hurt Cat again; just because he wanted to, not for any ulterior motive. Ever since Slade had given him free reign with his fists, he'd been champing at the bit waiting for her to give him an excuse to hit her. "It was fortunate that Oxley's protective instincts overrode any sensible ones. He'll come to his senses soon enough and realize the poor match he has made. But you and I are both witnesses to his proposal. He can't back out now."
"The man's a fool," Hislop said again. "Your idea was clever."
Slade puffed out his chest. Indeed it was clever. Brilliant! He had only hoped to get Oxley to take Cat as his mistress. He'd never expected him to marry her! When he'd seen her reluctance to become his mistress, and the way Oxley reacted to the bruise on Cat's face, Slade had known what to do. Urge her further along that path, and when she failed, as he suspected she would, threaten to hurt her. Oxley would be forced to take her as his mistress just to protect her. But it would seem Oxley didn't want a mistress, he wanted a wife.
Even better. Now Cat could have access to all of Oxley House, not just his person. Given time, she would know for sure if Oxley was the assassin or not, a
nd whether he suspected Slade had hired him to kill Stephen.
"Are you going to talk to her about what she needs to do next?" Hislop asked.
"No. She won't listen now. We've planted the seeds in her head and that's enough for the moment. If I'm right and Oxley is the assassin, she'll find out soon enough. And when she does, she'll come and tell me because she'll be too angry at her second husband for killing her first. Angry, frightened or sickened, it doesn't matter which. Just as long as she knows she can come running back here."
"The more I see of him, the more I think it is him," Hislop said, staring at the door through which Oxley had left. "The fop is definitely an act, which for some reason he wants to maintain. But he's no fool."
"Except when it comes to women."
Hislop grunted a laugh. "Aye, except when it comes to women."
CHAPTER 6
Cat saw her betrothed very little on the journey to his Hampshire estate. He had no horse or carriage for her, so she had to sit beside the cart driver. Oxley rode ahead each day. She rather liked watching him from behind. He removed his cloak when it grew warm, giving her a nice view of his broad back and shoulders, straining the seams of his doublet. He moved effortlessly with the horse, and she found the gentle rocking of his body enthralling. She couldn't tear her gaze away, and anyway, why should she? He was almost her husband. She would be seeing more of him in the days to come.
The thought made her head giddy and her heart race. Every part of her tingled as if his hands ran lightly over her skin, exploring, teasing. She had not felt this much anticipation before her first wedding night.
They stopped to dine at midday and secured rooms in traveling inns along the way. She expected an earl of Oxley's standing to stay in grand houses, but he didn't approach any of the estate gates they passed. Indeed, he didn't even introduce himself to the various innkeepers. He simply asked for chambers and was granted them. They must have known him. She did spot him talking to one or two keeps and inn servants, their heads bent in quiet discussion. It was as if he were their equal and not on a higher level at all.
From time to time, he fell back to speak to her on the road. He asked how she fared, if he could get her anything, and what she liked to do, to eat and drink. She asked him about his house, his family and servants. She learned that his mother, the dowager countess, was the only member of his family living at Oxley House. Indeed, he was an only child with three other siblings dead and buried years ago.
Throughout all of these brief conversations, he spoke like the fop again, in a simpering voice that always sounded as if he were on the verge of breaking into laughter. He seemed to find amusement in everything, from the birds flitting past to the beggars sitting on the side of the road. He threw coins at all of them. Every single one, and there were dozens. His good humor grated after a while. She wished he would dispense with the ruse now that she'd seen the other side of him. Was he going to keep up his foppishness for their entire marriage?
After two days they reached Oxley House. She had expected it to be magnificent, yet she'd not envisaged it to be quite as grand as the glittering mansion nestled on a slight rise at the edge of a lush forest. It was a modern building, although off to the east on another rise she spotted an old castle keep, much like Slade Hall. The new Oxley House shimmered like a jewel in the sunshine. There was so much glass! She'd never seen any place with that number of windows before. She couldn't even begin to count them all. The main part of the house was three stories high, the towers at either end stretching to four. Decorative crenellations and a stone carving of the family crest topped the roofline, interspersed with dozens upon dozens of chimneys, shooting majestically into the sky. Fittingly, the house itself was a warm brick that appeared golden in the late afternoon sunlight.
"Welcome to your new home, my lady," Oxley said, drawing Charger alongside the cart. "I hope you like it."
"I do," she said on a breath. "It is a jewel, my lord." She had the urge to thank him again for rescuing her, but he'd asked her to stop the habit the day before. He'd insisted that she was doing him a favor by finally ending his bachelor days. She'd chosen to ignore the heavy way he'd said the word 'bachelor' and the dimming of the light in his eyes. It wasn't her fault that all noblemen must marry eventually.
"Drive up to the front door," Oxley said to the driver. "I'll be taking my bride through the proper way."
A dozen servants spilled out of the house as they approached. They greeted their master and he greeted them in return, before they efficiently went about their business of tending to the horses or taking trunks inside. Oxley helped her down from the cart and was about to escort her inside when a thin, crooked man, who must have been in his seventh decade at least, met them on the steps.
He bowed. Or that is, Cat assumed the nodding of his head was a bow. His back seemed to be permanently fixed in that crooked position, poor man. "Good afternoon, my lord. The guest rooms are already prepared for Lady Slade, sir."
How had Oxley organized it all from the road? He'd not sent any of his men ahead. If he'd sent word, it hadn't been with one of them. Cat felt rather relieved. The thought of arriving unannounced had made her feel a little sick. At least this way his mother would have fair warning to grow used to the idea of a nobody marrying her son.
"Guest chambers?" Oxley echoed.
"There has not been enough time to remove all of the dowager's belongings, my lord," the crooked man said.
Cat winced. Throwing the countess out of rooms that she must have occupied most of her life wasn't the best way to start their new relationship. "There's no hurry," she said. "Please allow Lady Oxley to move in her own time." Or not at all. A house of that size must have many bedchambers. Cat could live in one of them until Lady Oxley was ready to move of her own free will.
"Crane, this is Lady Slade," Oxley said. "Lady Slade, this is Crane, my house steward. Anything you need, go to him. He's a marvel. Oxley House would fall apart without him."
The old man glowed under his master's praise, and he appeared to be trying not to smile. He bowed his awkward bow to Cat and she smiled back.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Crane," she said.
"And I am pleased to meet you, my lady."
"She won't be Lady Slade for much longer," Oxley went on. "She'll be my wife. Catherine. Cat," he said, sounding out the word as if seeing if it suited her. He must have liked it because he smiled at her rather sweetly. "Can I call you that?"
"Of course, my lord."
"And you must call me Hughe."
Crane cleared his throat. "My lord, I ought to warn you that the dowager countess has been asking her friends about Lady Slade."
"And what has she learned?"
"Nothing, as far as I am aware. There hasn't been time for her letters to be answered."
"Good," Hughe said tightly. "She'll get to meet Cat first."
Cat's stomach sank to her toes. It would seem she had been right in assuming the dowager countess would find fault with her son's choice of bride. It was inevitable, she supposed, and worrying.
Hughe led her across the porch between slender columns and into the house. The inside was just as magnificent as the outside. The great hall was the most enormous room she'd ever been in, besides the Presence Chamber at Whitehall. A long oak table and bench seats occupied most of the space. A hearth fit for a giant yawned on one side, above which were mounted two crossed swords. Tapestries and screens hung on the walls, their vibrant colors brightening the room.
Cat was so busy admiring the great hall that she didn't see Hughe signal the maid to approach until she was at Cat's side.
He patted her arm. "Go upstairs and allow the maids to take care of you. The journey has been long and you must be exhausted."
"Not at all," she said. Indeed, she felt like a child on her birthday, presented with an assortment of gifts to unwrap. She wanted to explore every nook, peek into every room, and speak to every servant to learn more about her betrothed.
"
There should be a bath in your chambers and new gowns too," Hughe said. "Although I'd wager most are too big."
Perhaps she could leave the exploring for now. A bath sounded like Heaven, and of course she ought to try on all her new clothes. "Thank you, my lord. Hughe."
He bowed elaborately. "It's my pleasure! I cannot wait to see you in those gowns. I hope some are blue to match your eyes. If not, I'll have them made. Dozens of them." He was back to being the fop, but she didn't mind. Anything was better than Slade and Hislop.
She followed the maid up to her new bedchamber. It was larger than her room at Slade Hall and looked more comfortable, with an enormous canopied bed and thick mattress. The seat in the window embrasure was covered with deep cushions in crimson velvet.
Another maid emerged from the adjoining room and announced that her bath was ready. Cat gratefully allowed the girls to help her undress and sank into the water with a sigh. She could certainly grow used to this.
***
Hughe changed his clothes and reluctantly went in search of his mother, his good mood dampening somewhat at the thought of the discussion he was about to endure. He'd enjoyed seeing Cat's eyes light up at the sight of his home and the smile she'd bestowed on him when he told her about the bath. Had her servants never carried a bath up to her chambers at Slade Hall? Probably not. For one thing, that narrow spiral staircase with its unforgiving stone walls would not make it easy, and for another, he had seen so few servants. She'd not even insisted on bringing a maid with her. If she continued to be such an agreeable woman, he might not mind being married as much as he thought he would.