A Momentary Marriage

by Candace Camp

  “No, you certainly did not.” She felt on more solid ground here. “But neither do you do anything without good reason.”

  “Perhaps I’m hoping to atone for my past sins,” he told her lightly. He turned to look out the window, his face momentarily bleak. “Or maybe I just don’t want to face the end alone.”

  He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the stone. “Much as I relish sitting here exchanging barbs with you, Miss Hinsdale, as you might guess, I haven’t the time to spare. What is your answer?” He went on in a needling tone, “Will you throw yourself off the wall, like a perfect heroine of Scott’s, rather than marry this black-hearted villain?”

  Laura glared. The moment one began to feel a bit of sympathy for the man, he immediately trampled all over it with his sarcastic goading. She would have liked to throw his offer back in his face, just to thwart him. But she was all too aware of the hard, lonely future that awaited her and, admittedly, too pragmatic to let annoyance rule her.

  “No. I mean, yes. Oh, bother. What I’m trying to say is I am no romantic heroine. And however mad you may be, I accept your offer of marriage.”

  chapter 5

  “You do me great honor.” James made her an elegant bow, but there was no mistaking the irritating smugness that danced in his gray eyes. He straightened, all business again. “Fortunately, Canterbury is close, so I can obtain the special license this afternoon. I shall make arrangements for the ceremony tomorrow, if that meets your approval. I presume you would prefer it done in the church.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” she replied, a trifle dazed by his swift disposition of her life.

  “You may find the haste unseemly, but I see no reason to cool our heels here for two weeks, waiting for the banns to be read. Besides, best to tie it up now, lest you have to roll me down the aisle in a bath chair, drooling.”

  “Sir James!”

  “What?” He raised his brows. “You may as well get used to it.”

  “Used to what?” she retorted. “Your drooling or your irritating manner?”

  “Why, both, I suppose.” A grin flashed across his face.

  It struck Laura suddenly how very handsome James de Vere was. She had known he was good-looking, but she had viewed him too much as an enemy to see him as a man. A blush tinted her cheeks at the thought.

  Fortunately, James was not looking at her. He turned away, thrusting his left hand into his pocket, but not before Laura saw the twitching of his fingers. Pulling his body even straighter, he swung back to face her, his expression as impenetrable as ever.

  “Hire someone to help you pack whatever you want to keep. I’d prefer to leave after the ceremony tomorrow morning.” James reached inside his jacket and pulled out a coin purse, tossing it onto the table. “There’s a bit of money to pay them and take care of any outstanding accounts. If you need more, I shall see to it when I return. No need to bother with Merton. I’ve talked to him.”

  Laura stared. “You paid that debt?”

  “I can hardly have my wife owing money all over the countryside.”

  “You did it before you knew whether I would accept your proposal.” The thought of his generosity warmed her.

  “It would have been a handy lever in case you refused.”

  “So you intended to use it to coerce my agreement.”

  “Only if it was necessary.” He quirked a brow. “Come, come, Miss Hinsdale. The fact that I’m dying doesn’t mean I’m virtuous.”

  Laura grimaced. “Well, at least you make it less upsetting to watch you die.”

  “Indeed. You might even come to enjoy it.” He turned aside without waiting for her response. “I shall leave Dem with you.” At the mention of his name, the dog came to his feet and padded across the room. James’s face softened fractionally. “No, boy, you’re staying here. You must look after Miss Hinsdale.” James reached out and took Laura’s hand, startling her. He placed it atop the dog’s blocky head, covering her hand with his own. “Guard her, Dem. She is ours now.”

  Laura stood perfectly still. His words sent the oddest sensation through her. She kept her gaze on the dog, unable to look into James’s face. She wasn’t sure what she feared he would see there, but with James, it was wise not to give anything away.

  “Good day, Miss Hinsdale. I shall see you later this afternoon.” With a perfunctory nod, James turned and left the room.

  “Well.” Laura felt numb and strangely removed.

  It had unsettled her to notice how attractive James was. She wasn’t sure why, exactly; perhaps it made him a person instead of a conveniently featureless villain from her past. A real person whose eyes could dance with amusement, whose thick black lashes could make a woman sigh with envy . . . or desire.

  One would assume illness would mar his looks, but instead, the lines of pain and the shadows beneath his eyes had softened the cold perfection of his features, and though he was much thinner than he should be, that had only heightened the soaring cheekbones. It was as if the disease had burned away any softening layers, leaving behind only the fierce beauty of bone and skin.

  But it was not his looks that left her troubled, nor her unexpected involuntary reaction to them. It wasn’t even the odd way he had taken her hand and told Dem she belonged to them. No, the problem was she had betrayed her beliefs.

  Laura had sworn she would marry for love, not position or wealth or even companionship. When that dream was thwarted eleven years ago, she had resigned herself to life as a spinster. Over the years, even as her youthful passion faded, she had clung to the idea that she could marry only for love.

  Yet here she was, tying herself to a man with barely a flicker of consideration in order to secure a comfortable life for herself. Oh, she could defend her decision. She was not deceiving James by pretending she loved him. Nor was she selling her body; he had promised her that, and however she felt about James, she was certain he would keep his word. It was a bargain, pure and simple, and eminently practical on both sides.

  Still, it was lowering to acknowledge that she was marrying for pragmatic reasons, not love. But when she thought of the alternative—a life spent scrabbling to make ends meet, burdened with her father’s debts, and always at the beck and call of others—she knew that if given the choice again, she would do the same thing. She had made a bargain, and not with the devil, only with an annoying man. All she could do now was get on with it.

  Laura turned and found herself facing the giant dog. Demosthenes sat in the middle of the hall, regarding her patiently. She felt a twinge of unease at being alone with the animal. He could snap her arm with a single bite. At the same time, his presence was reassuring. She need not worry about Sid Merton today.

  Returning to the kitchen, Demosthenes at her heels, she picked up the coin purse James had left for her. She could hire Mrs. Mitchell, their sometime housekeeper, to help her pack. Laura opened the purse, and her jaw dropped.

  Obviously she and Sir James had vastly different ideas of what was meant by “a bit of money.” She could hire a host of helpers with these coins, as well as pay off her accounts at the butcher’s and apothecary. She felt vaguely guilty about accepting so much money from him.

  But tomorrow she would be his wife—that thought set up a fluttering in her stomach—so it was only practical to use his money today to take care of necessary tasks. Laura could well imagine James’s biting comments if he was delayed a day because of Laura’s qualms about propriety.

  Laura set off on her errands, Demosthenes by her side. She hooked her hand into Dem’s collar . . . though she had no idea how she could stop the muscular dog, who must outweigh her by close to a hundred pounds, if he decided to charge off.

  It did not take long to hire Mrs. Mitchell and her half-grown son, then pay the apothecary and butcher. Whatever misgivings she might have about marrying Sir James, her spirits grew lighter with every step. The day seemed brighter, warmer, more sweet smelling. She felt wonderfully freed; she had not realized till now how much her f
ather’s debt had weighed on her.

  While Mrs. Mitchell and her son worked upstairs, Laura started again on her father’s study. Demosthenes thoroughly investigated every nook and cranny before sprawling in the center of the room and watching her with grave interest. Laura found herself addressing him now and then as she pondered what to toss, what to keep, and what might be worth selling.

  As she worked, she thought about the man she was about to marry. Had James really paid off Merton with the intent of pressuring her to agree to his proposal? She had taken his statement at face value. But the fact was, he had done it without any assurance she would be his wife. He could not have forced her to marry him if she chose not to. Perhaps it really had been, as she first thought, an act of kindness—but in that case, it seemed peculiar that he had tried to convince her otherwise.

  What if she had misjudged him all these years? Maybe he was not as cold as he wanted everyone to believe. After all, it wasn’t as if he had set out to hurt her eleven years ago. She could hardly fault him for doing whatever he could to save his cousin. The fact that he could have done it in a gentler, kinder manner didn’t make him wicked.

  Mrs. Mitchell and son had finished up and returned home to fix supper, and Laura, her work in the study finished, was in the parlor practicing her violin when Demosthenes suddenly raised his head, then jumped up and trotted out of the room. Laura set aside her instrument and followed. She had left the front door open to admit the evening breeze, and the mastiff bounded out, loping across the yard toward James.

  James bent to greet the dog, whose dignity had given way to all the wriggling, wagging enthusiasm he had refrained from till now. James smiled, talking to him as he scratched behind Dem’s ears, and even laughed when Dem ended his greeting by giving a full-bodied shake that flapped his jowls wildly and sent saliva flying.

  If the ladies of London had thought him handsome before, Laura thought, heaven help them if they could see James’s features now, laughing and warm. As if he’d sensed the thought, James turned toward the door and saw her. He started forward, and as he walked, the laughter faded from his face, revealing his weariness.

  “Miss Hinsdale.” James bowed, sweeping off his hat. “I take it you and Dem survived the experience.”

  “We had a very nice time. I hope your trip was not too tiring.”

  He shrugged. “More boring than anything else. I did little but sit about.”

  She didn’t dispute him, though the lines of his face said otherwise. She had seen enough of her father’s patients to recognize pain. But clearly it was not a topic he cared to discuss.

  “Please, come in. Will you have some tea?”

  “Another cozy family gathering about the kitchen table?”

  “No, I thought we would sit in the parlor.” She was determined to remain pleasant. “However, I have made some soup, so if you would like to have a—”

  “Miss Hinsdale, there is no need to play nursemaid. I assure you, neither tea nor soup will cure what ails me.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she replied in a chilly voice, her earlier cordial feelings about the man having fled. Sir James had an extraordinary ability to irritate. “I did not mean to presume.”

  “Egad, don’t turn missish on me now.” They had reached the door of the parlor, and he stopped, propping his shoulder against the doorjamb in a pose of negligent lounging. Laura wondered how much was a pose and how much a need for support.

  She crossed her arms. “Perhaps you should delineate the rules of our marriage so I’ll know what is too concerned or too missish. I wouldn’t want to play my role incorrectly.”

  Surprisingly, he chuckled and slanted a teasing look at her. “Ah . . . now there you have it. No retreat. No quarter given.”

  There it was again, an odd little rippling sensation in her core. Laura turned her face away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  James grasped her chin between his thumb and fingers, turning her face up so that she looked into his eyes. In this light they were the color of pewter. Her flesh tingled where he touched her, anticipation welling in her chest.

  “I have no need for any role from you. I know you, and that is all I ask.” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “I shall put a lump sum of money in a bank account in your name when we return home. That way you’ll have money to buy whatever you like.”

  Laura stared. “James, you don’t need to pay me.”

  He raised a brow. “You think a married woman shouldn’t have money of her own to manage?”

  “No! Of course I don’t think that.”

  “So your objection is that you won’t be capable of managing it. If you’d rather come to me for money each time you want to purchase something, I have no objection, though it is a bit of a bother.”

  “Stop it! You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s eminently practical. It will make you independent. I trust you to use your money wisely, and it will provide you with ample funds while the estate is being settled. What is your objection?”

  He paused for a reply. It was supremely irritating that Laura didn’t have one. All she could do was glare.

  “Then that’s settled. Excellent. Here is a bit of pin money until your account is established.” He handed her a sheaf of bills that made her eyes widen.

  “That’s a great deal of pins.”

  His mouth twitched up on one side, but he said only, “Now, as for the rest of it: I obtained the special license and arranged with the vicar to marry us tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

  “And I suppose I am to have nothing to say about the matter?” She wasn’t sure why she felt so annoyed . . . and vaguely disappointed.

  “Did you wish for a later time? Eight thirty? Nine o’clock? I thought you understood there is a need for haste.”

  “Yes, of course, but . . .”

  “I see no reason to tarry.” He glanced around dismissively. “If you wish to take some of these things, I’ll—”

  “Yes, I wish to take some of these things,” Laura snapped. “However paltry they may seem to you, they are important to me.”

  “Then naturally you can—”

  Laura plowed on, determined to have her say. “But that is not the point, anyway.”

  “Indeed? May I ask what is?”

  “Your high-handed, dictatorial manner. Your assumption that the only thing that matters is what you want. I agreed to marry you, not to be your slave. I don’t intend to sit about with my hands folded and my mouth shut, meekly going along with whatever you say.”

  “And here I was so sure you would.” His eyes glimmered in amusement.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” She balled her hands on her hips.

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “Hah!”

  “Are you going to hit me now?” He eyed her clenched fists. “I’ll need to brace myself . . . my condition, you see . . .”

  “What?” She gaped at him, dropping her hands to her sides, temper suddenly gone. “How can you joke about that?”

  “How can I not?” He gave her a wry smile. “Miss Hinsdale, please accept my abject apologies for having offended you.” He made an elegant bow. “I fear I am too accustomed to making decisions for myself alone. When, pray tell, will it be convenient for you to be married?”

  “Stop.” Laura tried to glare, but her mouth rebelliously curled up at the corner. “Eight is fine, if the vicar doesn’t mind.”

  “The vicar thinks the whole matter is splendid, especially the new pulpit in your father’s name.”

  “James! You didn’t.”

  “He seemed to have some reservations about my taking advantage of you in your bereaved state.”

  “It’s none of his business. You needn’t let him push you into giving the church money.”

  “You are accusing me of being too soft? Miss Hinsdale, I’m astonished.”

  “Truthfully, so am I.”

  “I didn’t want him plaguing you about i
t or looking like doom all through the ceremony. It’s scarcely the wedding young girls dream of as it is.”

  “Well, I . . . thank you. For having Father’s name remembered.” Laura added, a little hesitantly, “I would like to take my father’s books and some of his other things with me. It’s rather a lot, I know, but I—”

  “Take whatever you like. I’ll make arrangements to have it shipped. Except that piano. There’s a far better one at Grace Hill.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not a tyrant, you know,” he told her mildly. “Merely a bit high-handed.”

  She chuckled. “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Then . . . you intend to go on with it? You haven’t decided to cancel our agreement?”

  “Of course,” she said, surprised. “I don’t go back on my word.”

  He gave her a short, sharp nod. “Good. Then I shall see you tomorrow morning at the church.”

  chapter 6

  Laura wore black to her wedding. With her father dead only two weeks, she was still in mourning. James cast a sardonic glance down her dress and leaned in to murmur, “How appropriate. Practical, as well—you can use it again for the funeral.”

  Laura sent him a quelling look and turned to the vicar. The best way to deal with James’s goading remarks was not to answer. It felt very strange to stand beside James like this, linking her life to his . . . and even stranger to know that it would not last long. It was hard to reconcile this tall, commanding man with the idea that life was slipping away from him.

  She glanced up at James, and he turned his head to her. It was hard to tell what he thought; his gaze seemed always assessing. Even harder to guess what he might feel. He must feel something, despite his careless dismissal of emotion.

  When they came to the point in the ceremony where James was to put a ring upon her hand, Laura realized he would not have one, given how impulsive the decision had been. But she had misjudged him, for he took her hand in his and pulled a ring from his pocket. Three blood-red rubies were set into the gold circle, separated by two diamonds.