They still had that option. There were grounds in non-consummation, but she didn’t quite understand the painful twist of her stomach.
“If you think it’s best,” she managed.
“It would get you shot of me,” he said brutally. “I’d make a terrible husband.”
“And you don’t want to be married.”
“Well, I’m not really fit for it,” he said. “Or suited to it in any way.”
“I can see that,” she managed. “Except in so far as you can now get your hands on the money.”
He blinked. “I told you about that?”
“It was the main reason you made your offer.”
“Christ, I’m a boor,” he said ruefully. “Still, better than the alternative.” He didn’t elaborate, but took a sizeable gulp of coffee. “So, let’s put that amongst the cons of annulment. We’d be pretty well off and could live independently, without my father constantly closing the purse strings. Also…” He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’m a rotten bargain, but if the marriage was annulled, I doubt you’d be any better off than you were before. The Shelbys wouldn’t have you back, would they?”
“I wouldn’t go back,” she said. “I’d do what I should have done years ago and apply for a post as governess. Or something.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I feel you’d have better fun with me.”
She regarded him with a mixture of amusement and frustration. “Is there no more to life than how much fun we can extract from it?”
“No. Why should there be?”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “You are quite…liberating,” she allowed, and he grinned as he lifted a large forkful of ham and egg toward his mouth. Without thought, she took a piece of toast from his plate.
“It is perfectly true,” she allowed, “that I would be much more comfortable as Viscountess Daxton. But it would cut up my comfort to know that you abhorred the situation.”
He rubbed his forehead as though trying to dispel the monumental headache he must still be suffering.
“Well, I certainly didn’t plan to be leg-shackled just yet. It’s one of the reasons I was so angry at my father.” He reached for his coffee cup, a lopsided smile curving his lips. “In fact, I told him I’d go out and marry the first woman I saw, who was liable to be one of the house maids. It carried no weight, of course, because we both knew I wouldn’t do it.”
“And here you did.”
“Hardly.”
“I’ve a feeling his lordship won’t see much difference between me and the chamber maid,” Willa said.
Daxton didn’t deny it. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep out of his way until he’s got used to the idea.”
Willa’s eyes flew to his face. A hint of mischief gleamed in his eyes as he thoughtfully chewed his breakfast.
As neutrally as she could, she said, “Then you think we should stay married?”
“On the whole, yes. If you can stand it. If I have to be married to anyone, I’d as lief it was you. And wastrel as I am, my name and fortune are some protection for you.”
There was relief in that. Though hardly a declaration of undying love and fidelity, it was a beginning. She didn’t ask for details of the marriage he foresaw. Daxton had always lived very much for the day, without much thought of the future. So, she merely smiled at him and finished her slice of toast.
But the smile seemed to have caught his attention and a trace of unease entered his expression. “I’m not a very good man, Willa,” he warned.
“You’re not a very wicked one either.”
His eyebrow flew up. “Compared with Ralph, you mean?”
“I wouldn’t dream of comparing you to Ralph,” she retorted.
“Has that bas—” He stopped himself, scowling. “Has he hurt you?”
“No, no,” she said hastily, for the last thing they needed on top of this scandal was another quarrel with the Shelbys. She wouldn’t even put a duel past Daxton if he ever learned the truth. And in fact, there had been no physical hurt involved. Not to her, at any rate.
Thinking of duels, though, she still had to talk him out of the one he’d challenged Shelby to the night they’d eloped. Daxton hadn’t mentioned it, so with any luck, he’d forgotten. In fact, since he’d hit Ralph, perhaps it was up to Ralph to pursue the challenge now? Affairs of so-called honor were a bit of a mystery to her.
Daxton was frowning thoughtfully over his fork. “Hmmm. Why is Shelby in Blackhaven? Is he ill? For it’s not like him to dance attendance on his family.”
Willa hesitated. “I suppose I can tell you, since we’re married now.”
“As your husband, I insist upon it,” he said with mock loftiness.
“Well,” she said confidentially. “I suppose you heard the on-dit in London that Lady Arabella, the Duke of Kelburn’s daughter, refused the offer of marriage everyone expected her to accept?”
Daxton frowned, clearly dredging his erratic memory. She doubted gossip of this kind interested him, so it was probably a matter of chance how much information happened to get through to him. “Beaton,” he recalled. “Kelburn—and Monkton, too—spent ages bringing him up to scratch. So, she turned him down?”
“Apparently. Her family banished up here in disgrace. Or because she was ill, depending on who tells the story. Anyway, Ralph thought he was in with a shout.”
“Why?”
“Well, she doesn’t come to London and is a bit of a recluse. Beaton is over fifty. I suppose Ralph thought there would be no rivals. Besides, he met her once, years ago, and seemed to think she would be grateful for his offer, being quite old and no longer very marriageable. So, nothing would do but that we all must travel post haste to Blackhaven. Where we discovered not only that the Nivens had already gone, but that in the unlikeliest social event of the year, Lady Arabella had married someone else. The famous Captain Alban, in fact.”
“Serves him right,” Daxton said with satisfaction. “Shelby, I mean, not Alban.”
“Why do you and Ralph hate each other so much now?”
“That’s not a story you want to hear,” Daxton said hastily.
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, it’s not one I can tell,” Daxton retorted. “Not to you, especially now you’re my wife.” He pushed the cleared tray away from him, retaining only his coffee cup, from which he drank in a distracted kind of a way. “We’ll need different rooms. This isn’t suitable for you. And you’ll need a maid, too. Hmmm… I’ll write to my father and send an announcement to the Morning Post in London. Then there’s your aunt and Ralph. I was going to suggest we hang around here for a few days, just to get used to the idea, only you might be uncomfortable with the Shelbys here, too.”
She thought about it. “It’s very ill-natured of me, I know, but I find I rather like the idea of greeting my aunt on your arm as Lady Daxton.” As a viscountess, she even took precedence over her aunt, the widow of a mere baronet.
Daxton grinned. “Glad to be of service. I expect it will really annoy Ralph as well.”
“I expect it will. He knows we left the hotel together last night and must have presumed you set out to ruin a member of his family for spite.”
Daxton shifted with sudden discomfort, as if not perfectly sure that hadn’t been one of his motives. “I didn’t behave well,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Willa. If I could undo it, I would.”
She knew that, and knew it shouldn’t hurt. They hadn’t met for eight years, since they were children. Well, she’d been twelve. He must have been around sixteen, a wild, handsome, and charming boy on the cusp of manhood. Now, they were effective strangers. She blinked away the intrusive, delightful memory of the carriage interlude.
She stood up. “Let us make the best of it, then. I’ll go and bespeak a larger set of rooms if any are available—”
“Carson will do that. He’s listening at the door anyhow.”
“No, I’m not,” came Carson’s indignant tones.
“Go and do it,” Daxton commanded. “And
then bring me lots of water, a razor, and fresh clothes. Even my wife shouldn’t have to see me like this.” He frowned. “Is that the only gown you have?”
“I have a slightly better one for Sundays, and a very faded evening gown for dinner. They’re still in my aunt’s rooms, though. If she hasn’t thrown them away.”
“We’ll go shopping,” he pronounced with a grin. “See and be seen. It might be fun. I know nothing about this town, though the world and his wife appear to be here. I’m sure I saw Wickenden the other night.”
“Lady Wickenden was born here,” Willa said.
“How do you know these things? Is she a friend of yours?”
“Oh no,” she said, making hastily for the door since Daxton appeared to be getting out of bed, stark naked as he so clearly was. “I’ve never met either of them. I just spent a lot of time listening to conversations I had no part in. I’ll wait in the sitting room.”
She whisked herself to the other side of the door, and then was sorry. She would have liked to have seen more of that large, powerful body.
Hastily shaking the improper thought away, she discovered writing materials and set about composing an announcement of the marriage for the newspapers. It seemed unreal, as though she were writing about someone else.
Chapter Four
Shopping had never been pleasurable for Willa before. Most of her experience involved standing to one side while her aunt and cousins picked through items and fabrics, and watching while they pirouetted in gorgeous gowns, shawls, hats, pelisses, riding habits, and travelling cloaks. Her opinion had never been sought. She’d only been there to carry the parcels the footman ran out of hands for.
But, setting to one side the fact that Daxton seemed far too comfortable in a ladies’ modiste, he turned out to be the perfect shopping companion. He cheerfully admired or criticized her choices, persuaded her to try things she would never have thought of, and ended by ordering everything they agreed they liked. Willa, who had been expecting to make a choice of maybe two day gowns and an evening dress, was stunned.
“But I’ll never wear all of those,” she whispered to him as the French-born modiste, Madame Monique, flew into a happy panic of activity.
“Of course you will. And we can get some more in London, for you won’t want to wear the same few evening gowns to every party.”
“Are we going to London?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Bound to, eventually. I want to go first to Daxton, though.”
“Shouldn’t we visit your father?”
“No. He can visit us if he likes. Here, Madame,” he addressed the modiste. “Could you manage the alteration on the green day gown immediately?”
“You wish to wear it now?” Madame Monique was delighted. “But, of course! So much better than the grey, which is not my lady’s color! Two minutes, if you please…”
Without consulting Willa, Daxton and Madame quietly consigned the reviled grey dress to the rubbish, and Willa left the shop in the smart new pale green muslin with matching pelisse and a sweet little bonnet trimmed with ribbons of exactly the same shade. Beneath them, even her underwear was new, right down to her chemise and the unfamiliar stays.
“My lord, you didn’t need to do all this for me,” she said, awed. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be. A few fripperies are nothing, and it’s time you had something pretty. Also, I wish you wouldn’t call me my lord all the time. My name’s Charles, though no one uses it except my mother. Or call me Dax as you used to. As you did the other night, in fact.”
Her eyes flew to his face as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and strolled along the high street. “Your memory is returning?” she asked as casually as she could.
His lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “In flashes, most of them uncomfortable, and some of them possibly dreams. I hope you’ll take all my apologies as read because it’ll be deadly dull if you have to listen to them from now until Christmas.”
“There’s no need,” she assured him. “Even in your cups, you were less rude…that is, you have always shown me civility.”
Unexpectedly, Daxton scowled, as though he saw and understood everything she was trying to avoid saying. It had never been his pity she wanted. But he only muttered something beneath his breath and veered suddenly across the road to a jeweler’s shop.
“You’ll have my grandmother’s jewels,” he told her. “But it’s all pretty old-fashioned, and you might as well have something to wear here for now. And you should have a ring…”
Stunned, she emerged from the shop wearing a gold ring studded with tiny pearls and carrying a parcel containing a turquoise set that Daxton said would go marvelously well with one of her new evening gowns.
Although wearing the new gown and pelisse gave her confidence, it wasn’t so much the material gifts that made her so unexpectedly happy, but strolling through the town on Daxton’s arm, basking in the pleasure of his bantering company. His attention was like a ray of sunshine. She knew the clouds would block it soon, but while it was there, she made the most of it. Vaguely, she was aware of people turning to look at them with varying degrees of blatancy, but Daxton paid no notice. He even took her into the ice parlor they discovered on a corner, and sat watching her as she ate the delicious ice.
“Will your reputation stand such a mundane pastime?” she teased.
“What reputation?”
“You must know you’re regarded as the most dangerous company after Lord Byron.”
“Byron’s not so bad,” Daxton said carelessly. “Apart from the God-awful poetry.”
Willa swallowed her ice too fast and gasped at the cold. “God-awful? Most people regard his poetry as his saving grace!”
“Well, it isn’t,” Daxton said, looking revolted. “What’s my saving grace?”
“You don’t have one.”
He really did have a devastating smile. It lit up his already handsome face with fun and wicked joy, and made her toes curl. “Not even my personal charm?” he suggested.
“I believe that’s counted as one of your dangers.”
“Oh, well, I’ll have to take comfort in the knowledge I have some.”
“You don’t actually care, do you?”
“About what people say of me? I’ve never thought about it,” he said frankly. “Though I suppose it explains why the debutantes all look terrified of me, even when their doting mamas fling them at my feet.”
As they left the parlor, Daxton said, “What would you like to do now? I suppose we should try and find you an abigail. Perhaps the hotel could help, there.”
“Ah, well that was one of the things I wanted to tell you,” she began. “I sort of have one already.”
“Dax?” a male voice interrupted. It came from a group of people who’d stopped to talk in their path—two gentlemen and a young lady. One of the gentlemen was impeccably dressed and darkly handsome with black, sloping eyebrows, but it was the other man who’d addressed her husband. He was much more carelessly garbed in an ill-fitting and badly worn coat, and his hair was rather too long and tangled for fashionable society.
Daxton halted, glancing at the group with more annoyance than interest. Then his eyes widened.
“Rags? What the devil?” He thrust out his hand and enthusiastically shook that of the ill-dressed young man. “I thought you were dead!”
“No, no, just rusticating. Never expected to run into you here of all places.”
“I never expected to be here above a night, but that’s a long story.” He half-turned toward Willa, drawing all eyes to her. “I have to present to you my wife.”
“Wife?” the young man repeated, startled, his eyes flying from Willa to Daxton.
“Wife,” the viscount repeated dangerously. “Willa, this is Lord Tamar, whom I haven’t seen since he was kicked out of school.”
“I wasn’t kicked. I left voluntarily.” Lord Tamar smiled disarmingly, bowing over her hand with incongruous grace, considering his
ragged appearance. “And I’m delighted to make your ladyship’s acquaintance.”
He had an unconventionally handsome face and intense, curious eyes. But there was little time to study him, for Daxton was casually introducing the other gentleman and his lady. “And this is Lord and Lady Wickenden.”
Everyone had heard of Wickenden. Known as the Wicked Baron, he was the acknowledged leader of one of the wilder fashionable sets in London, and for years had been considered the most eligible and elusive bachelor in society. Both he and his wife shook hands with her in a faintly bemused kind of way, and congratulated Daxton upon his unexpected nuptials.
“It was a sudden decision,” Daxton said carelessly. “Which reminds me, Wickenden, do I need to apologize to you for the other night?”
“Not to me, no,” Wickenden said, although he cast another glance at Willa as though he’d finally recognized her as the poorly dressed girl who’d brought Ralph his money. “Bit hazy, is it?”
“I was a trifle disguised,” Daxton admitted. “But I’m dashed if I expected to find so many people in this town. What are you doing here, Rags? I thought your pile was down in the south.”
“It is,” Lord Tamar confirmed. “I needed somewhere cheap to stay that was full of rich people. I paint these days. In fact, I’ll paint you and Lady Dax if you’ll let me.”
“Depends,” Daxton said bluntly. “Are you any good?”
“Actually, he is,” Lady Wickenden said warmly. “We’ve just come from the gallery where you can see several of his paintings.”
“I’m nearly finished with Lady Arabella and Captain Alban,” Lord Tamar said. “So, I need more interesting faces to carry me through the dull commissions.”
“Lady Arabella Niven?” Willa said, intrigued. “The Duke of Kelburn’s daughter? What is she like?”
“Beautiful, in a unique kind of way. Funny, perceptive, charming. Why?”
Willa couldn’t help her unholy delight. “I heard she was plain,” she said with satisfaction. “And aging.”
Daxton regarded her with amusement, the others with bafflement. “So, what is there to do in this very odd town? Your pardon, Lady Wickenden!”
The Wicked Husband Page 5