“Is that why you believe I offered for you?” he murmured, coming around the table.
“Is it not?” she countered, picking up her forgotten-until-now copy of Shelley’s work.
“Do I wish to spare you from a life spent married to a man such as Tennyson?” He continued walking until he stood before her. Nick placed his lips close to her ear and her breath caught hard as a delicious tingle ran from her neck down her spine. “I do,” he whispered. “I do not doubt your innocence would be forever shattered if you married him or any man like him.”
She fought through the desirous haze he cast and tipped her chin up mutinously. “I’d not force a man to bind himself to me out of pity or—” He pressed his fingertips to her lips; the heat of his skin momentarily obliterating all thought and word.
“Not pity. I could only ever admire you, Justina,” he whispered, angling her face to his. Her lashes fluttered as the intoxicating hint of sandalwood and brandy which clung to him invaded her senses. “I wanted to stay away from you because it was best.” How could it ever be for the best? “Now, I would marry you because the thought of him, or anyone touching you, knowing you, in any way, drives me mad.” He lowered his mouth and claimed hers in a searing kiss that scorched a quick path through her, setting her body afire with a fast-spreading conflagration that threatened to consume.
The book slipped from her fingers.
A shuddery moan spilled past her lips and he slid his tongue inside, stoking the fire all the more. Nick folded his hand about her nape and angled her head to better receive his kiss. Their mouths met in a fiery explosion. Where his previous kiss had been one of tender passion, there was nothing gentle in this embrace. With a groan, she turned in his arms and his mouth branded hers. He swept his tongue around to meet with hers and she boldly met his movements. Their tongues danced and mated, and with every stroke, desire for this man liquefied her. Her legs gave out, but he caught her to him, and guided her buttocks atop the table.
A soft cry escaped her when he drew his mouth away, but he merely trailed his lips down the curve of her cheek, lower to the sensitive place where her lobe met her neck. He darted his tongue out, tasting her, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip, wanting more of him. “I want to marry you,” he whispered, between acts of worshiping her skin with his kisses. “Because I want to know you in every way. Because I want to have you in my bed and in my arms.” She whimpered as he drew her earlobe into his mouth and suckled. “And I never want you to know another man but me.”
“How could there ever be another but you?” she countered on a shuddery whisper.
Something powerful and unidentifiable darkened his eyes. He touched his lips to hers, once more, in a fleeting caress. “Never doubt why I’m marrying you,” he said when he broke that contact. “I need you to know that. I need you to know, that since I saw you in the streets of Lambeth, you have captivated me. In ways I never wanted, nor understand. But my desire for you is real.”
His desire. And yet, she wanted so much more.
Nick opened his mouth. There were words and questions in his eyes.
Justina cocked her head. “What is it?” she urged as an unwanted disquiet pulled at her.
“It is nothing,” he said gruffly. “I have matters of business to attend before we are wed tomorrow.” He gathered her fingers and raised them to his lips for a kiss. Little shivers radiated from the point of contact and traveled up her arm.
Except, as he left, Justina stood staring after him. For why, with his parting words sounding like the most beautiful of endearments had there been an ominous thread that stirred her unease? She gave her head a hard shake. He may not love her, but he’d laid a true foundation on which to build their marriage. She touched her fingertips to her lips where his kiss burned there still. And yet, for the excitement trilling through her, questions slid forward once more as to why he’d disappeared for a week.
Chapter 14
They were married the next morning. By special license. In her father’s empty library. With just Lord Chilton as a witness and Gillian and Andrew sitting on in support.
Seated at the leather button sofa alongside Justina’s brother, Gillian lifted her hand in a show of support and some of her melancholy lifted. Well, mayhap not all. She smiled and returned her friend’s wave. At her side, wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles, Nick signed the final marriage documents laid out on her father’s desk. After he’d finished, the baron came over to speak quietly to her husband and the vicar.
Gillian quickly took up a place at her side. Beaming as though this had been a love match and not a marriage meant to save Justina from ruin, her friend linked their arms. “You are happy? If you aren’t happy, Honoria and Phoebe will never forgive me,” she said in a bid for brevity.
Unbidden, Justina’s eyes went over to her husband. “I am happy,” she murmured.
Her husband. Hovering on the opposite side of her father’s desk, she rolled through that word in her head. He was her husband. A man she’d now known a fortnight, whom she’d bound herself to forever, with vows that would keep them until death did they part.
A silly grin on his lips, Andrew sprung to his feet. With a gaiety in his footsteps better suited a child, he hurried over and nudged Gillian out of the way.
She greeted him. “An—oomph.”
He crushed her in a fierce hug and held her tight. “You made a good decision with Huntly.” His was an observation from a brother who’d been more friend than anything; who knew her most times, better than even her elder sister. Where Phoebe had sought to protect, Andrew had treated her as an equal; a young woman who knew her mind and she would forever love him for that.
“I did,” she agreed. Even as she’d longed for words of love from an honorable gentleman, she had been ultimately rescued from ruin by one of those good men.
Andrew cuffed her on the chin. “I know you wanted the courtship and marriage in those books you used to read,” he said quietly. “But I also see you have the look of longing every time he enters a room.”
Unbidden, Justina’s gaze went to her husband, still speaking with the baron. When she was a girl with her nose buried in romance novels, she’d read of those long, piercing glances that passed between the characters. Until her sister had met and fallen in love with Edmund, that look had existed as nothing more than words on a page. Nick glanced over at her through thick hooded lashes that sucked the air from her chest. A charged energy passed between them and, with a little sigh, she smiled.
“And that is the look of longing,” Andrew said, earning a laugh from Gillian.
“What do you know of the look of longing?” she teased. Justina nudged her brother in the side with her elbow. A crimson blush stained her brother’s cheeks, diverting her attention momentarily over to him. “Who is the lady who has earned your heart?”
“Shh,” Andrew commanded, a frown on his lips. Glancing about, he tugged at his cravat and then stared pointedly at Gillian.
She rolled her eyes. “I am Phoebe and Justina’s dearest friend. You can trust I am the epitome of discretion.”
Color splashed in his cheeks. “I’m not at liberty to say. It is a match that can never be,” he spoke with the same dramatic flourish of those books she’d long favored.
The two ladies shared a small smile. With his self-absorption and love of the wicked—drink and gaming tables and the forbidden ladies at those clubs—Justina had never believed the time would come when Andrew could ever or would ever set aside his personal pleasures for another being. Most especially, not a young lady. At the troubled glint in his eyes, she took his hands in hers and squeezed. “If there is love, Andrew, it is a match that can be,” she promised him.
“Indeed,” Gillian concurred, with a firm nod. “My sister and her unlikely marriage to a former rake is proof of that.”
A stark sadness glimmered in his like blue eyes. “It is not always that easy,” he said with a forced half-grin. “We cannot all simply fall in love with a pr
oper member of the peerage like Phoebe and Justina and your sister.”
Fall in love? Justina gave her head a dizzying shake. Love Nick? They’d known one another but a fortnight, she could not love him. Yes, he’d rescued her—twice. And encouraged her reading. And made friends with her brother. And thought nothing of her attending scholarly lectures and—
A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder, bringing her spinning around.
Nick stared down with that same heated glimmer in his gaze that had the ever-present butterflies fluttering wildly in her belly. Something passed in his eyes and then, always a gentleman, he dropped a bow and exchanged pleasantries with Gillian and Andrew.
Justina observed him as he spoke, so casually and easily, nothing like the pompous, unfeeling sort a man of his station was purported to be. Did he regret the offer he’d made her? She worried the inside of her cheek. I’ll be a good wife to him. And in time, mayhap there would be more.
“It is time,” he murmured.
She forced herself to nod and turn back to Gillian. Gathering her hands, Justina gave them a gentle squeeze. “You may assure both Phoebe and Honoria that I am happy.” Of course, this was not the romantic marriage she’d often dreamed of, but it was enough. It would have to be.
Tears filled Gillian’s green eyes and she nodded.
Releasing her, Justina turned to her brother. “I will miss you, Andrew Algernon Alistair.” She hurled herself into his arms and he staggered under the unexpected weight, then righted them.
With a grunt, he folded her in an embrace, burying his cheek against the top of her hair. “I want you to be happy.” He picked his head up. “And I believe Huntly will make you happy.” Then with far more maturity than she’d ever remembered from him, Andrew set her away and held out a hand to Nick. “Take care of my sister.” It was a gruff command that earned a slight frown from her husband.
And then… Nick accepted the other man’s hand. “I will see her well-cared for.” What of love? She bit the inside of her cheek. Wanting that gift from him, when he’d already given her so much. In time, it could come. Would come. She had to believe that.
Her father, nursing a drink, came over. “Father,” she said tentatively. He was the man who’d given her life. And yet, she had no words for him. No feelings in leaving this place. There had been far greater sadness the day her mother and sister had departed for the countryside with Edmund than in leaving the home she’d known the whole of her life with her father for company.
“You did good, gel,” he grunted. “Not many gentlemen would take a dowerless girl and buy off my vowels.”
She swung her gaze up to Nick and found him staring on with his face set in an unyielding mask. He had done this. He had saved her father and, more importantly through that, her mother and Andrew from certain financial ruin. She’d lost a little piece of her heart to her husband.
“It is time,” Nick said curtly and held out his arm.
It was time. She would set aside life inside this home that was a threadbare shadow of the one it had been years earlier and go with Nick. Justina hesitated a moment and then placed her fingertips upon his coat sleeve. They walked the distance from her father’s office to the foyer in quiet. With every step, her gratitude for him and all he’d done swelled.
How can I not love such a man?
They reached the marble foyer and a footman rushed forward with their cloaks. As she shrugged into hers and fiddled with the clasp at her throat, Justina murmured her thanks. The butler, Manfred, watched her through dewy eyes. “May I wish you all the happiness you deserve, my lady?” he said, his voice hoarsened with emotion better fitting a father than a loyal servant.
“You may,” she said and went on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek. “You must promise to look after A-Andrew.” She wanted the words to come out teasing. Wanted them to be lighthearted and carefree. The faint crack, however, belied all those futile attempts.
“Indeed, my lady,” the old servant vowed and then swallowing loudly, he strode to the door and pulled it open.
She looped her hand in Nick’s elbow, once again, and allowed him to guide her outside to his waiting carriage. Waving off his liveried servant, he handed her inside the massive black barouche. She blinked, adjusting her gaze to the dim space and assessed the elegant conveyance. The red velvet upholstery. The plush squabs. All signs of his wealth and power. A wealth she’d only just learned yesterday that came not solely from his rank, but by the work he’d done with his own hands.
His broad frame filled the carriage as he claimed a spot on the opposite bench.
A moment later, the servant closed the door and the carriage lurched forward.
Justina peeled back the thick, velvet curtain a moment and peered out at her family’s townhouse until it faded from view and then was gone. Just like that, she was now a woman married. And she’d always longed for the day she’d find a gentleman and know love, only to now find herself married…as her sister and mother both were.
Had there ever been a time when her mother had been happy in her union?
“You are quiet,” Nick observed, stretching his arm along the back of his seat.
She smiled wryly. “I believe that is the first I’ve ever been accused of that charge,” she said, in a bid to end the nervousness at her new circumstances.
“What are you thinking?”
“I was thinking of my mother,” she confided softly. “Wishing she could have been here. And Phoebe and Edmund,” she added. His body went still. “My mother never speaks of her marriage to my father, but I wonder, the day she married him…what was she feeling? Was she ever happy?” And if so, when had her joy died? “She never wishes to speak of it.” Him. Viscount Waters. “What of your parents?” she asked, desperately needing to shift the discourse away from her own private, troubled thoughts.
“My parents were very much in love.” Her heart sang under that additional proof of that very real sentiment. Some marriages were built of happiness and love and others….well, other couples became her parents. “It was hardly a match my grandfather approved of. He was a powerful earl, who’d plans for his daughter to marry another. In the end, she chose my father. He owned an iron factory. For as long as I recall, it was failing. My family, however, was happy regardless.”
How alike and yet different they were. They had both known the love of a family. Justina’s, however, had never known even a fleeting bit of happiness with her own father. “They were fortunate,” she said quietly. Viscountess Waters had been cheated by life and the expectations of their Society.
He stitched his eyebrows together in a hard line.
“That your parents knew some happiness together.” Her own mother’s life had been remarkably devoid of any real affection, devotion, or even faithfulness from her miserable husband.
The carriage rocked to a halt.
A moment later, a servant opened the door and Nick leapt out. He turned back and helped her down. Justina climbed her gaze up the white stucco façade of the Mayfair townhouse. This was her home. So many of the memories of the previous townhouse she’d occupied had been filled with her and her siblings’ attempts to make happiness where they could. Now, she looked on at this new residence; a grand one. The place where she would create memories with Nick. The home where their children would live.
“Justina?” There was a question in that quiet utterance.
Turning a smile on him, she accepted his hand and fell into step alongside him. The butler stood in wait with the door open. His cold eyes and wrinkled face set in a hard mask, stood as a stark contrast to the kind-eyed butler who’d been more friend than anything to the Barrett children.
With a murmured greeting for the servant, Justina proceeded ahead of her husband and then stopped. The soaring foyer with its sweeping ceilings featured a mural better suited to one of those Renaissance cathedrals. At the center hung a crystal chandelier lit with candles. Her mouth fell open at the extravagance of the ducal residence. She forc
ed her lips together and snapped her attention downward to where an older woman stood in wait; her gaze averted. A little niggling of homesickness pebbled in her belly.
“Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Benedict. She is the head housekeeper,” Nick said at her back, and Justina jumped.
The woman of middling years came forward and sank into a deferential curtsy. “Your Grace,” she greeted in austere tones far befitting a crusty member of the peerage.
“How do you do?” Justina said with a forced smile. How very different this household was to her former one, in every way. From the grand opulence that exuded ducal wealth and power, to the stern-faced servants hovering in the wings.
“This arrived earlier, Your Grace,” the butler murmured. A footman came forward with a silver tray and a single letter atop.
Nick narrowed his gaze on the thick ivory velum and then with quick movements, grabbed it and stuffed it inside his jacket.
“And Mr. Stannis arrived a short while ago. I took the liberty of showing him to your office, as requested.”
Her husband nodded curtly and then glanced briefly at her. “I’ve matters to discuss with my solicitor.”
He would see to business on their wedding day? Of course, it was silly to believe there was anything romantic in the rushed affair brought about by her ruin two days earlier. Even sillier to hope for the romance they’d known in the gardens. “Of course,” she said belatedly, when he continued to stare at her with an inscrutable gaze.
Her husband gathered her hands in his and a familiar thrill ran through her at the heat of his touch. “Mrs. Benedict will show you abovestairs until I’ve concluded my business.” He drew her knuckles to his mouth and dragged a slow kiss along the skin where her wrist met her hand. Her pulse thundered hard under his lips. “And then I will come to you.” His was a husky pledge that sent her heart tripling its beat and brought about a giddy nervousness.
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