“Regina! Is it you?”
A blond man jumped down from his horse. Rushing to the carriage, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He smiled broadly, reminding her of the pranks they had enjoyed among the halls of the courts around the Dey’s palace. Although he wore a brown riding coat instead of the uniform he had always worn in Algiers, he was little changed otherwise. The bushy mustache that nearly covered his upper lip was not à la mode, she now knew, but she could not imagine Benjamin Sheldon without it.
“I did not know that you were garrisoned in London now.” Recalling her manners, she added, “Benjamin, this is the Dowager Duchess of Attleby …” She realized she had no idea what the dowager duchess’s given name was.
“Your Grace,” he said with a perfect bow toward her.
“This is Major Benjamin Sheldon.”
“Retired,” he said, chuckling. “It is just Mr. Sheldon now.”
“Retired?” gasped Regina. “But why?”
“I found that I was tired of taking orders from men I could not respect.” His smile returned as he added, “Now I answer to whom I choose.”
“How do you do, Mr. Sheldon?” The dowager duchess smiled warmly. “I can assume by your conversation that you and my granddaughter-in-law are acquaintances of long standing.”
His gaze darted back to Regina. “Granddaughter-in-law? You have married? Why have I heard nothing of this?”
Regina felt heat oozing along her cheeks as she said, “My marriage was by proxy, and my husband’s family has asked Lord Daniston and me to be remarried here in two weeks. Until that time—”
“We are in somewhat of a flux,” the dowager duchess interrupted smoothly. “There has been no announcement of the wedding in the paper, as you can understand. Of course, by this time, rumor has wafted from mouth to mouth throughout the Polite World, and we have endeavored to soothe the questions with the truth.”
Regina glanced at the dowager duchess, wondering what had been said out of her hearing. How many times had Papa told her to be observant of everything and everyone around her? She was letting her despair blind her to what was happening.
“I hope an old friend will be welcome to give you a look-in,” Benjamin said, seeming to overcome his shock more quickly than she had.
“Of course,” said Regina.
“Of course,” echoed a voice that sent a familiar rush of anticipation rippling through her.
She clutched the edge of the carriage as she turned to see Marcus standing behind them. With the sun glinting with blue fire off his ebony hair and highlighting the gold waistcoat beneath his sedate coat, he was the picture of debonair refinement. His riding boots accented the strength of his legs. A sleek phaeton was waiting at the side of the road, and she recognized it as the one that had driven away from Mme. LaPorte’s after the unfortunate meeting there last week.
Falling back on habit, she let the aplomb that had carried her through many strained meetings in Algiers absorb her. She was even able to smile as she said, “Lord Daniston, allow me to present Mr. Benjamin Sheldon. Benjamin, this is my … husband.”
She blushed as she hesitated on the word, but Benjamin came to her rescue by holding out his hand and saying, “You are a lucky man, Daniston.”
“So I have been told.”
Benjamin glanced at her, but she fought to keep her face emotionless. His smile seemed labored as he said, “I shall call soon, Regina.”
“Yes,” she said, “Please do that.”
As Benjamin mounted and rode off along the path, the dowager duchess clapped her gloved hands together. “Marcus, it is a delight to see you. Of course, my dear boy, I shall not keep you from taking your wife for a drive about the Park.” She smiled, but the set of her chin warned that she would not accept an argument.
“Grandmother—”
“You do not need this old bag of wretched bones playing watchdog for you.” She motioned for him to open the door and help Regina out. “After all, not worrying about a small indiscretion is one of the benefits of being able to court Regina while you are wed to her.”
“Madam?” He held up his hand.
Regina put her fingers out and tried to quell the flood of pleasure as his hand swallowed her smaller one. She was making a great cake of herself by letting his undeniably masculine allure beguile her. Being cautious and sensible during this ride must be her major concern.
The thick seats of the phaeton were more comfortable than she had expected of such a fleet vehicle. Even though the velvet welcomed her to lean back and enjoy more views of the Park, she sat on the very edge of the seat while Marcus picked up the reins.
His mouth was set in a straight line, and his shoulders were as unmoving as if they had been sculpted of marble. As he drove deeper into the Park, he said nothing.
When the silence between them became unbearable, Regina said, “If you are wondering, Benjamin is Papa’s friend.”
“And yours?” he asked in a clipped voice.
“Yes, although I have not seen Benjamin in many years.” She tried to relax against the seat as she prepared for his exasperation to overflow. It must be exasperation. It could be nothing else … certainly not jealousy.
“Have you no female friends?”
Mayhap a bit of jealousy, which was a surprisingly pleasing thought. Yet she must be honest. “What opportunity would I have had to meet other women? They all were sequestered in the seraglio.”
“Not the Englishwomen.”
“Of which there were few.” She gazed across the gloriously green park. Looking at Marcus, who was frowning, she added, “Most of the Englishwomen left nearly as soon as they reached Algiers. I can understand why they pined for England now. This is a splendid place.”
“It is clearly different from Algiers.”
She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Do you wish me to rescind my invitation to Benjamin to give us a look-in?”
“I would prefer that you delay such calls until after the wedding.”
Her fingers curled into fists on her lap as she raised her chin. “I had not expected my husband to tell me whom I could have as friends. Nor would I feel that I should choose his.”
“I do not wish to speak of Jocelyn.”
Although she flinched at his easy use of his mistress’s name when he avoided using hers, Regina said, “I have no desire to speak of Mrs. Simpson either. I was speaking of friends.” Her eyes widened. “If you mean to insinuate that Benjamin and I have been lovers, I can assure—” She gasped as the carriage rocked to a sudden stop in the shadow of a group of trees.
Marcus grasped her by the shoulders. Pulling her to him, he wrapped one arm around her to keep her from edging away. “You need not reassure me on that matter, for I am certain he has not enjoyed that intimacy with you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” His voice softened to a husky warmth, astonishing her. One moment, he was furious with her; the next, the craving she had discovered in his kiss sifted into his words.
“How?”
He kissed her right cheek, then her left one, before teasing the tip of her nose with a light kiss. “Sheldon seems to have a modicum of sense about him. No man with any sense would get involved with an impossible woman like you.”
“But you are married to me.”
“Not of my own choice,” he whispered as he trailed moist sparks along her throat.
She closed her eyes and let him draw her so close that her body was molded along the hard planes of his chest. Stroking his back with one hand, she swept her other hand up through his thick hair, letting each strand caress her as he sought within her mouth for the delight she could not deny him. Bold, his tongue taught hers a sweet dance, every touch sending molten fire into her very depths. As her breath mixed with his, she longed to be even closer to him, to explore the full realm of this rapture.
“Dash it!” he muttered as he raised his mouth from hers. “Why did I agree to these three damnably interminable weeks before we co
nsummate this marriage?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, tracing a wavy path between the buttons in the center of his waistcoat. “Why did you?”
“When I figure that out, you shall be the first to know.” His smile vanished as his lips covered hers again.
Knowing that she would hate herself later for surrendering to him, she gave every bit of herself to the kiss. At this moment, when she was enveloped in his arms, she was sure every dream she had could come true … or be destroyed.
Eight
“I think things are going well, don’t you?” asked the dowager duchess as she took a sip of her coffee.
Marcus nearly choked on his. Going well? This travesty of a marriage? “Grandmother, your continuing optimism is amazing.”
“Now, now, my dear Marcus,” she chided as she tapped the newspaper the duke was reading to get his attention and include him in the conversation, “you cannot say that your visit to the Park a couple of days ago was not a success. I have heard—Oh, dear me, how I have heard!—how wondrously matched you and Regina seemed as you enjoyed an outing in the Park.”
“She is astonished with the most commonplace things.” He hoped his answer would cover the thud of desire that struck him like a gentleman of the fist when he recalled the flavor of Regina’s tempting lips.
“True.” The dowager duchess rang the silver bell by her side and motioned for their coffee cups to be replenished. “She was quite nonplussed when I spoke to Mr. Pennant. I could see no good reason for the man to dally in the center of the square, and I informed him of that fact. Quite politely, I would say, although I am sure you would not question that fact. Mr. Pennant seemed to take my words well.”
Marcus sat straighter upon hearing the name he had never expected to be spoken at the breakfast table, but his father spoke first. “Who is Mr. Pennant?”
“Grandmother,” Marcus said when she simply smiled, “you should know better than to approach a stranger and reprimand him.”
“He left.”
The duke chuckled under his breath. “I would guess the man saw no reason to stay and suffer your scolds, Mother.”
“Idle hands are—”
“Troublesome,” Marcus grumbled at the comment he had heard too often throughout his life.
“What did you say?” the dowager duchess asked. “You must speak up, my boy. Mumbling is a most unpleasant habit.”
Marcus forced a smile. “I said I was pleased that the man is not tarrying here. We have no need for more trouble.”
Again the duke interjected, “I am sure the man has found suitable tasks elsewhere. I think we need worry about him no longer.”
“Worry about whom?” asked Regina as she entered the breakfast parlor.
Marcus stood to escort her to her chair but found his feet secured to the floor. He stared. He could not help himself. From the beginning he had admired his wife’s loveliness, but she looked exquisite in a gown decorated with stripes as jade as her eyes. The stripes ran the length of her dress, drawing his gaze to the high waistline accented by ruffles across her breasts. She did look as fresh and winsome as a spring morning.
“Good morning, Marcus,” she said with the warm huskiness that gripped him and refused to let go. Realizing he could hear her say those words every day for the rest of his life was an intoxicating thought.
He took the hand she held out to him. Seating her, he slipped his hands across her shoulders. He spoke her name, and she turned that luminous green gaze on him. Cupping her chin, he tilted her face toward him. Hungrily he feasted on her soft lips. As her arm curved around his neck, he deepened the kiss, needing to claim every delight they could share.
“Good morning, Regina,” he murmured, not releasing her. He wondered whether her eyes or her smile sparkled more brilliantly.
“Speak up, my boy,” chided the dowager duchess. “How is one expected to hear you?”
Regina’s fine brows arched, and Marcus bit back his amusement. Taking his own chair, he replied, “There are some things that even you should not be privy to, Grandmother.”
“Nonsense!”
“Mother,” the duke said as he opened his newspaper again, “do leave off teasing them. Pink may be a charming color, but you should not be putting Regina to the blush simply because you wish to tease your grandson.”
Marcus chuckled as he squeezed Regina’s hand beneath the table. Her soft smile teased him to tug her back into his arms. Something must be done to relieve this craving, or he feared he would go mad and do something insane like falling in love with his wife. That would prove he was want-witted, and he would do anything to avoid that.
“It is unheard of that the groom would attend a fitting of the bride’s wedding gown.” The dowager duchess’s pursed lips revealed her displeasure.
“If I must suffer these interminable fittings, he should not be exempt,” returned Regina. She held her chin high. If she were fortunate, the dowager duchess would relent and Regina would be able to escape today’s trip to Mme. LaPorte’s shop. They had been going to visit the modiste every day since her arrival in London. The trips that had been tiresome at the beginning were growing more taxing by the day.
Marcus smiled. “I need not be fitted. My best coat will serve when I stand by your side before the minister.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Then I shall wear my best. I have no need for a wedding gown. After all, this is nothing but a farce.”
The dowager duchess fanned herself with her hand as she gasped, “Dear me! What a to-do!”
“Your Grace, I—” Regina gasped when Marcus seized her arm.
“If you will excuse us, Grandmother,” he said more coldly than Regina had ever heard him speak.
When he tugged her in the direction of the sitting room on the first floor, she wanted to resist. A single glance at the firm set of his jaw warned her that he was not in a mood to be trifled with.
She waited until he closed the door before she said, “I trust this is the last time you shall think it permissible to drag me about the house.”
“Only if you realize that you must temper your tongue around Grandmother!” Anger twisted his lips as he faced her. “I thought I had given you warning that, in spite of her vibrancy, Grandmother needs to be treated with care.”
“Disagreeing with her does nothing to harm her. In fact, she enjoys a good brangle.”
“True, but you are trying to put a halt to something that matters deeply to her.”
Regina sniffed. “Why should she care so much about something so unimportant?”
“I am her only grandson and the heir to the title her husband once held.”
“So I am supposed to be grateful for the opportunity to be poked and pinned and bored nearly to delirium solely so your family can have the pageantry it craves every generation?”
He fisted his hand on the back of the settee. “Must you always be a virago?”
“I am no virago.”
“No? You constantly prattle about everything you do not like about this wedding.”
“Mayhap,” she said with a sigh, “because there is nothing I like about it. Oh, Marcus, can’t you see the truth? This is just compounding a mistake. I am so bored.”
“How can you be bored when Grandmother has planned an at-home for you twice a week?”
She toyed with the intricate carving on a table. “Have you ever attended one of the dowager duchess’s at-homes?”
“One.” His nose wrinkled at the memory. “I found her friends full of opinions about matters of scanty importance.”
“Exactly.”
“But I thought all women enjoyed poker-talk about the ton and fashion and the Season.”
“I am not, I am beginning to perceive, like other women. That is why, Marcus, I urge you to reconsider this futility. A wedding ceremony when we are already married is absurd.”
“Whether or not it is absurd does not change the fact that Grandmother wishes you to go for that fitting today.”
“How can you owe that this is useless but still wish me to play a part in it? Have you no mind of your own to put the facts together?”
His eyes narrowed with fury. “I have heard enough! I expect you to cooperate with Grandmother from this point forward.”
“Then you shall be disappointed.”
“Regina,” he said lowly, “that was no request.”
“I know.”
Marcus scowled as she folded her arms in front of her. Dash it! This woman was determined to differ with him at every opportunity. And just a short time ago, he was thinking how charming she was! She might be enticing, but she was maddening as well.
A wife was supposed to obey her husband. She was supposed to honor his requests, and she was supposed to cherish him and bear his children. Regina had not done one of the things she had promised when she spoke those vows.
His gaze riveted on the soft lips that had framed those words. Before he could halt himself, he grasped her arms again and brought her against him. He clamped his mouth over hers before she could pull away. When she responded to his kiss, her lips parting, he enfolded her in his arms. Her breath pulsed against him as he probed deeper within her mouth. A fierce shiver swept through him, drawing every muscle tauter, as he bent to brush the bare skin above her modest décolletage with his tongue. Her fingers clenched on his sleeves as she moaned softly.
The sound of the dowager duchess’s cane knocking on the door was answered by Regina’s regretful sigh as Marcus released her. With a rueful smile he said, “What I would give to have you alone right now, Regina!”
“Are you coming or not?” came the dowager duchess’s impatient voice.
“Are you?” he echoed quietly.
“Yes.” Regina did not meet his eyes, and he suspected he would have agreed to any reason to part, as they were finding it near impossible to govern the passion between them. He was astonished when she added, “But only if you will join us, Marcus.”
“I have no interest in dawdling at a couturière’s shop.”
“Nor do I.” She raised her chin, a challenging smile on her lips. “If you are determined to have this wedding, Marcus, then you should have to suffer for it as well.”
An Undomesticated Wife Page 8