“I said it for convenience.”
“Then why not say he is yours? Why bring up Draycutt at all?”
“Because the dates aren’t right, Leah,” he said flatly, but she sensed there was something else. Ben wasn’t his…and intuition warned her that Devon was sensitive to that fact.
“Everyone in London knows about the duel and that I left the city immediately. They have only to figure the date and count nine months. It won’t fly.”
“All right,” Leah agreed. “But I still don’t feel comfortable about this. I don’t like secrets.”
“Everyone has them,” Devon answered dismissively.
“That doesn’t mean they are easy to live with.”
“No,” he agreed, “but then, our marriage won’t be easy either. We will not be a love match, Leah. There’s too much between us. You are free to go your way. I ask that you are discreet.”
His words shocked her. She’d never expected such from Devon. “Why?”
He didn’t answer, his features set.
“You don’t say anything, but I think I know. You wish to punish me.”
“It’s nothing like that,” he quickly denied.
“Then is it Draycutt? That I chose another?”
“It’s many things. I loved you once. But time changes one’s affections. If we marry, it will be for Ben and Ben alone.”
His blunt words rocked her back. “I see.” She added grimly, “Now I understand why you are not worried about our children inheriting.”
He shrugged, his expression guarded.
His indifference told her more than words that the love he’d once felt for her, the love she had rejected, no longer existed. Last night, when she had feared she was going to die, she’d desperately confessed her feelings.
He had not responded in kind.
She knew why now. He did not love her anymore.
But he loved her son.
Tears clouded her vision. She crossed her arms and looked away.
He was right. She should think with her head and not her heart. Devon would take care of them. Any other man would have abandoned her yesterday. Devon had stayed. If not for him, both she and Ben would have died.
She glanced back and noticed the way his fingertips gently stroked the back of the baby’s head. What right did she have to deny Ben such a father?
“I will marry you.”
If he was happy or had doubts, she couldn’t tell. His expression did not change. He nodded. “Fine. Let us see the deed done and be on our way.”
That was it. No glad declarations, no giddy promises.
With an efficiency that would have made a field officer proud, he threw open the curtain, Ben still in his arms. Old Edith had made tea, and the vicar and his wife joined her around the table.
“Miss Carrollton does me the honor of giving me her hand in marriage,” Devon said formally. “Let us start the ceremony before she changes her mind.”
His quip irritated her, but Old Edith and Mrs. Wright were so pleased that no one noticed her feelings—or cared.
Devon held the baby. Mrs. Wright and Old Edith stood as their witnesses.
The room grew suddenly close. Leah found it difficult to breathe. She reminded herself that she was doing this for Ben. Ben. It was a good name, but she feared her family’s reaction.
And yet, they weren’t here. They had not supported her when she’d needed them most.
From this marriage, she would gain respectability and security for herself and her son…but what was Devon receiving?
The question tormented her as the vicar read the marriage ceremony from a small black book. Every debutante had dreamed of hearing these words and knew them almost by heart. Leah was no different.
Devon repeated his vows in a clear, strong voice. He did not look at Leah the whole time he said them.
Her tongue stumbled and tripped over the simplest of the vows. Her knees shook, and she knew it wasn’t from fatigue.
She and Devon never touched.
Vicar Wright paused. He looked over his gold frames to Devon. “It is here I customarily bless the rings if there are any.”
“Use this.” Devon handed Ben to Old Edith before removing his signet from his left ring finger. Carved in the face of the heavy gold was a leaping stag and the Marshall family motto, Je reviens. “Let her wear this until I can have something made in London.”
The vicar passed his hand over the ring, blessing it. “You may now place it on the bride’s hand.”
At last, they were forced to face each other. Leah held out her hand. It trembled.
If Devon noticed, he gave no indication.
As he held her hand in his and repeated Vicar Wright’s words, she remembered the night of the masquerade. “Hold out your hand,” he had said, and what had flowed between them had been something real, something magic.
She didn’t feel the magic now.
Devon fitted the ring on her finger. It was too large. She made a fist to hold it in place, the cold weight of it as heavy as her heart.
What was she doing?
And then, before she realized it, the vicar said the final blessing that bound them together as man and wife for an eternity.
It had taken minutes.
Her head bowed, she stole a look in Devon’s direction. He seemed to concentrate on a point beyond the vicar’s shoulder. She wanted to weep, but she was done with crying. She’d made her decision.
At that moment, Ben woke and started crying.
Leah’s breasts immediately tightened uncomfortably. Her milk was in.
“Just the right timing,” Vicar Wright said with satisfaction as he closed the book.
“The baby’s hungry,” Old Edith announced. “Go along, Leah. You should feed him before you leave.”
Leah welcomed the opportunity to escape to the bedroom. She overheard Devon say, “We’ll leave the moment she is done.”
“Aye, my lord,” Old Edith answered. “And you be careful with the lass. I don’t want her coming down with childbed fever. It’s not wise for her to travel.”
“I have no choice.”
“You take care of her,” Old Edith reiterated, and Leah could have kissed the woman.
Her son nursed eagerly. She watched him, this simple act giving her a sense of satisfaction, of completion. And an understanding that she was doing the right thing for Ben.
Old Edith pulled back the curtain and stepped into the room. She carried a huge basket. “Mrs. Wright had this out in the coach. It is filled with clothes and nappies, and there’s a nice thick blanket made of fine fleece to keep that wee one warm. Lord Huxhold also managed to find a wool cape for yourself. He has another hamper this size full of food. Mind me, you eat well. Drink ale. It will keep your milk coming. And don’t move unless you must.”
“That’s one piece of advice that won’t be hard to follow,” Leah said, still sore from her labor. She burped Ben on her shoulder, already handling her baby with confidence, before rising. “Thank you, Old Edith. Thank you for everything.”
The Scotswoman’s eyes grew misty. “Don’t thank me. It was him that did it. I could have lost both of you. He wouldn’t let me.” She pushed a stray lock of Leah’s hair back from her face. It was a motherly gesture. “Listen, missy, one piece of advice and then I will say no more. Sometimes, the marriages that start off the worst are the best. Just remember, marriage is work. Every day, it is work.”
“Well, I know how to work,” Leah admitted ruefully. And she had the calluses to prove it. She began changing her son and wrapping him in the fleece.
“Aye, you do,” the midwife agreed softly. “And don’t be afraid of it.”
Leah nodded, unwilling to betray her doubts.
“He cares for you, lass,” the midwife said as if reading her mind.
Leah didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed a kiss against the older woman’s cheek. “It is time for me to go.”
Out in the main room, the vicar and his wife had already l
eft. Old Edith made Leah drink a cup of tea and eat some bread and cheese. The cheese was buttery smooth and like nothing Leah had eaten since she’d run away. It must have come from Lord Ruskin’s pantry.
Devon paced restlessly outside the door. She had to go.
“Don’t forget the drawer,” Old Edith said.
“But the cupboard—?” Leah started to protest.
Old Edith waved her on. “Adam can make another for his mother. Your son needs it.”
Old Edith placed the red cape around Leah’s shoulders. Made of the finest material, it enveloped her and her son. “You are a true lady, lass,” the midwife reminded her.
A lady. The words made her light-headed. Leah wasn’t certain what it all would mean. She’d have to sort it out in her mind before they reached London.
Devon called from the door. “Leah, we must leave.” He took the drawer from Old Edith and put it on the floor of the coach, placing warming bricks around it. He offered his hand to Leah. Instead of letting him help her up, she took off the signet ring and placed it in his palm, explaining, “I will lose it.”
His hand closed around it, and then he placed it back on his hand. “Let us go.”
She climbed into the coach.
To her surprise, he turned and thanked the midwife for her services. “I wish I hadn’t thrown my purse at Mrs. Pitney to buy a bed, but you will be compensated as soon as I reach London.”
“Take care of Leah, and that will be compensation enough,” Old Edith answered.
Devon nodded his reply. He stepped up into the coach, signaling the driver for them to be on their way before he’d even shut the door.
Inside, Devon sat back in the green velvet seats and ran his hand over his jaw. “I should have shaved.”
She didn’t answer or look at him. Her baby in her lap, she stared out the window until they’d rounded a curve and the small farm that had been her haven vanished from sight.
She was on her way to London. The road was deeply rutted with frozen mud, and the coach rocked back and forth in spite of its good springs.
The reality of what she’d done in marrying Devon struck her full force. Her father and brothers would be furious. And what would she say when she saw her mother, the woman who had threatened to destroy her baby?
At last, she roused herself from her dark thoughts to face Devon. She turned—and discovered he’d fallen fast asleep. He was slumped down in his seat, his arms crossed, his long legs bent in an uncomfortable position in the close confines of the coach.
He looked like anything but a hero.
Once again, some inner voice whispered he had an ulterior motive in mind for marrying her. For all his seeming nonchalance, he was a proud man. She just couldn’t divine what his true reasons were.
Of course, even if she could, would it make a difference?
He wanted her child but not her—and suddenly it made Leah angry. Her own parents had experienced more than their share of disappointment and disillusionment, but through all their trials, their love and commitment to each other had remained firm.
Now viewing the world with a woman’s eyes, Leah realized she wanted that kind of love. Her hand rested on the seat, her fingertips so close to Devon that she could touch the buff-colored leather of his breeches. Devil-may-care Devon. At one time, there had been magic between them. Would she really let it go without a fight?
No.
As a debutante, Leah Carrollton had charmed a host of men. Now, as a woman, it was time to win the heart of her husband.
CHAPTER 9
The baby’s crying woke Leah. She hadn’t realized she’d been dozing.
The world around her rumbled and moved. Slowly, she came to her senses. She was in a coach on her way to London, her body ached, and her breasts were full. Ben.
She started to sit up but stopped when she realized her feet rested on Devon’s lap. He was holding Ben, his thumb up to the baby’s lip. Ben suckled eagerly.
“He’s hungry,” Devon said to her. He looked down and answered the unspoken question about how her feet ended up in his lap. “You looked uncomfortable. I thought you would sleep better stretched out.”
She nodded. He’d even thought to remove her shoes. She was very aware of the hard muscles of the thigh beneath her stockinged foot. He had a horseman’s thighs, each muscle strong and elongated.
Her stocking had a hole in it, right over the big toe. She curled her foot reflexively to hide it. The action pushed her heel even harder against him. His muscles tensed.
So, he wasn’t completely immune to her.
Some perverse whim tempted her to leave her foot there, but that was a bolder action than she wished to take. She wasn’t ready to dare him into the intimacy of a marriage. Even if her body had been healed enough for it, which it wasn’t, she had discovered from her liaison with Draycutt that the act of love itself, the coupling, was much overrated. After the flush of infatuation wore off, being pawed by Draycutt was both boring and messy. They’d been intimate three times, but it had been two times too many for her.
Sitting up, she pulled her feet back until her skirt covered the hole in her stocking. She held her hands out for her baby. “Let me feed him.”
If Devon noticed her retreat, he made no comment…and it made her sad. She remembered standing on his shoulders, his hands around her ankles holding her so fast that she was in no danger of falling.
“I changed him,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I put the soiled nappies under the drawer.”
“You changed him?” Leah asked, surprised. She’d heard from the village women that men wanted to have very little to do with babies and even less with a baby’s nappies.
“He fascinates me,” Devon replied. He handed the baby to her. “I swear he knows me, Leah. He responds to the sound of my voice.”
Right now, Ben was responding to his hunger, but Leah hesitated over nursing the baby in front of Devon. Women nursed in public all the time. It was a fact of life, and yet she wasn’t certain she wanted it to be a fact of her life.
Nor was she ready to expose a breast to Devon. She’d done so last night—but that had been life and death. Now, she pulled the red cape up over her shoulders.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m going to feed the baby.” She turned her back to him and awkwardly undid the back laces of her dress before slipping one shoulder down.
“I’ve seen breasts before, Leah.”
She didn’t answer. What could she say to such a comment, especially when it made her cheeks flame with color? Then Ben clamped onto her with gusto. The strength of his mouth surprised a small gasp out of her.
“Is anything wrong?” Devon asked, immediately concerned.
“No, he’s just more aggressive than he has been,” she managed to squeak out, even as she felt another wave of hot color rise in her face.
Devon settled back into the far corner, ungracefully shoving his hands in his pockets. He stared out the window. It was a dismal day, with threatening clouds hanging low in the sky, just like the day before. The silence stretched out between them. Leah switched Ben to her other breast, just as Old Edith had instructed her. In spite of traveling, everything seemed to be going fine. She had plenty of milk.
Ben finished. She brought him out from under the cape and placed him on her shoulder. The awkward silence made her feel ill at ease.
She cleared her throat. Devon didn’t waver from his concentration on the passing scenery.
“I’m glad we aren’t going to have a normal marriage,” she said.
That captured his attention. “In what way?”
Leah took her time answering. Let him have a taste of the silent treatment. Ben had already fallen back to sleep. She checked to make sure the bricks were still warm, and then she placed the baby in his drawer, tucking the fleece in all around him.
Devon watched her, his foot tapping impatiently, and she had to hide a smile.
“It’s just nice to know,” she said at la
st when she knew he wouldn’t wait any longer. She was proud that she’d kept her voice carefully steady.
Devon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Beneath the red cape, she slipped her arms back into her dress. His gaze dropped to her arm movements, and then he seemed to hold his breath.
Experimentally, she let the red cape drop while she reached behind her to tighten the lacings of her gown. The action thrust her chest forward, her breasts already generously overfilling the bodice of the gown.
Devon shifted restlessly now. His toe stopped tapping. He stared at an imaginary point in front of him.
Her husband may be angry with her, but he was completely male, and he thought as all males. There was hope. She could secure his affections. She knew she could. The thought made her smile.
“Why are you smiling all the time? Little smiles, like you hide a secret,” he demanded, sounding outright surly.
Leah couldn’t help tweaking his nose. “I was imagining what type of cicisbeo I would take on once we get to town.”
“Cicisbeo!”
She nodded, her expression serious, or as serious a one as she could muster. “I think it best to be—as you put it—discreet. After all, isn’t a cicisbeo the type of man that a woman pays, and therefore he has a reason not to rattle on about his lady friend’s affairs?”
Suddenly, Devon lunged across the seat. Leah found herself pressed up against the side of the coach, the weight of her husband’s body holding her prisoner. He captured her arms by the wrists and held them against the wall close to her head.
“What game are you playing?” His face was so close to hers that she could see the textured shades of green mixed with the brown of his eyes.
“I play no game,” she said bravely.
“Oh, yes you do.” He leaned closer, the roughness of his whiskered jaw barely touching her skin, his breath hot against her cheek. “There was a time when you played a merry tune and I danced because I believed we had something special, Leah. Then you sent me away. I will not trust you again.”
“Then you shouldn’t care what I do,” she whispered defiantly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Her heart beat in her throat, but she’d rather have this than his indifference.
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