A Momentary Marriage

by Candace Camp

  “First of all, you don’t know that he is the one who did it.” Laura began to tick her points off on her fingers. “Second, that supercilious tone of yours won’t deter me. Third—” She let out a little shriek as his arm lashed out and clamped around her waist, pulling her off her horse and onto his.

  “Last, I know that there’s no way I can win an argument with you except this . . .” He kissed her.

  Laura made no objection, merely twined her arms around his neck and enjoyed his kiss. When he lifted his head from hers, she smiled up into his eyes. “That’s not winning; that’s just delaying.”

  James began to laugh. “I surrender.” He kissed her again, and after that, all other thought fled.

  It was the way many conversations between them ended. Whether they argued or laughed or teased, heat and hunger were never very far beneath the surface for them. But later, as they rode home, James said, “What of Walter? How is it I have failed him?”

  “You haven’t failed him.” Laura reached out to lay her hand on his arm. “You haven’t failed any of them. Sir Laurence left you with a great deal of responsibility, and you have done everything you could to live up to that trust he had in you. You aren’t to blame for whatever might be amiss with them. I only meant that you have shouldered too much, perhaps, and not left enough of their burden on them.”

  “Walter was still a lad when Sir Laurence died. I never knew what to do with him.” He glanced at her. “If only I had been wise enough to marry you then, no doubt he would have come out better.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Walter. And no one can blame a young man for not knowing what to do with a stripling boy. He admires you, James.”

  “Walter?” James looked startled. “He scarcely talks to me.”

  “He is, I think, a little in awe of you. He’s not a confident young man, and I think he’s afraid of displeasing you.”

  “If he was so afraid of that, one would think he would try harder to stay in school. I don’t understand him. He’s not unintelligent. He used to always have his nose in some book or other.”

  “I get the impression he’s bored.”

  “School is always boring.”

  Laura laughed. “Not all his subjects bore him. He likes history. But he’s uninterested in most of the others.”

  “It’s clear he’s not destined to be a scholar, but I cannot see that he has the slightest aptitude for anything else, either. He hasn’t any sense for money. He’ll buy a book or go to a play when he hasn’t enough left of his allowance to eat. He’ll lend money to anyone with a sad story.”

  “He has a good heart.” Laura paused, then took the plunge. “He wants to write books.”

  “He what?” If she had hoped to startle him, she had more than succeeded. “Books? History books?”

  “Stories set in the past, certainly, but more . . . tales of derring-do.”

  James stared at her blankly. “Good Gad.” He absorbed the news and let out a laugh. “Walter? Really? Sir Walter Scott sort of tales? Stevenson?”

  “Dumas. Yes.”

  “Who would have thought? He was ever the most timid of us.”

  “I gather it’s more the thinking of it than the doing he enjoys.”

  He gave her a considering look. “He has come to you, I take it, to intercede? He’d like to leave university and take up residence in a garret in London and write?”

  “He didn’t ask me for intercession, and I doubt he wants to live in an attic anywhere, but yes, he would love to leave university. Writing books seems to be what he’s interested in, at least at the moment. He is still young.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, but after they dismounted and were strolling toward the house, James said, “Have you read Walter’s stories? Are they any good? Can he do it?”

  “As for ‘can,’ he already has written two, as well as some shorter pieces.”

  “Two? Really?”

  Laura nodded. “I enjoyed them. As to whether or not he will find someone to publish them or becomes a famous author, I don’t know that I can judge. I’m not sure that’s really the point. It’s what he wants to do.”

  James took her hand. “Tell me, my wise Laura, what should I do?”

  Laura glanced up at him and was surprised to see the uncertainty in his face. “That’s up to you and Walter, isn’t it?”

  “You have no opinion?” He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “There’s a first.”

  “My opinion is that you should talk to Walter. Find out for yourself what he thinks, how he feels. What would mean the most to him is for you to pay heed to him. He would appreciate knowing you are more interested in him than in his record at school.”

  “I don’t give a damn about his school record. Or how he lives, really. I merely hate to see him fritter away his life, playing the fool.”

  “Telling me that does little good, since I am not Walter.”

  “Bloody hell, Laura, you know I have no facility with people.”

  “You’re able to talk to me well enough.”

  He grimaced. “That’s because of you, not me.”

  “Flattering as that is, I don’t think it’s true. I think it’s that with me you are more yourself.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.” But he was smiling down at her as he said it.

  “Doesn’t it?” She sparkled up at him.

  They had slowed as they walked, and now he pulled her to a stop and bent to give her a hard, quick kiss on her mouth. When he lifted his head, he sighed and said, “And now, I suppose I must talk to Walter.”

  His hand tightened around hers for an instant, then he turned and walked up the steps and into the house.

  Laura watched him go.

  “A tender scene.”

  She lifted her head at the sound of the woman’s brittle voice and saw Patricia sitting on the shadowed terrace. Determined to be pleasant, Laura smiled and strolled over to her.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Salstone.”

  “You might as well call me Patricia. Clearly we’re going to be stuck here together forever.”

  “Surely not that long.” Laura smiled. “But it would be nice to be Patricia and Laura, not Mrs. Salstone and Lady de Vere.”

  Patricia gazed off into the garden, not looking at Laura, as she said in a quiet voice, “James seems . . . happy.”

  “I hope he is.”

  “What about you?” Patricia narrowed her eyes at Laura. “Are you happy? Is this what you wanted? Or did you hope he’d die?”

  Laura started to snap back an angry retort, but caught herself. “I never hoped for James’s death. I’m not sure what I wanted or expected. I didn’t envision the life I have now. But, yes, I am happy.”

  She refrained from adding “far happier than you,” but there was no need to; the truth hovered in the air between them.

  Patricia’s mouth pursed into its usual pout. “James loves you.” There was an almost wistful note in her voice. “The way Graeme loves that American.”

  Laura’s heart squeezed in her chest. She managed to say, “I would like to think he holds me in regard.”

  Bidding the other woman a quick good-bye, Laura turned and walked on to the house. Her thoughts tumbled wildly about in her head. Did James love her?

  There were times when she thought so, when he made love to her with such tenderness that she almost cried or when he turned and saw her approaching and a smile broke across his face like the sun rising. But he had never come close to expressing anything more than the assertion that she was beautiful. Of course, pulling a confession of love from James would probably require torture. He was so closed off, his emotions shielded behind an impenetrable wall, that she sometimes feared James could never love her. And what was she to do then?

  chapter 36

  James watched his wife circle the ballroom with Graeme. She was beautiful, her face alight. James wondered how much of the glow arose from the fact that she was waltzing with Graeme. James glanced over at Abigail
, in animated conversation with Tessa and Aunt Mirabelle. Obviously Graeme waltzing with his first love didn’t disturb her. It was foolish to let it nibble at him.

  The difference, of course, was that Abigail knew she held Graeme’s heart in her hand. Whereas Laura . . . but that was nonsense. It was absurd to have this cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, this sense that something was lacking. Laura was his and his alone. She’d never been in any other man’s bed, never felt anyone else’s touch, never taken another into her warmth as she had him. If there was any lack, it was only love, and he was not some weak milksop of a man to sit about whining about romance. And how unfair, unkind, to wish he had Laura’s love, when he could not offer it in return.

  James was fully aware that he did not love deeply. Heartache was foreign to him. Indeed, it was vaguely unsettling even to think about it.

  There was nothing wrong in Laura dancing with Graeme. Nor was it worrisome that Laura visited Lydcombe Hall frequently. It was only . . . Laura never mentioned her visits to James. She had not once asked if James would like to accompany her. In fact, she seemed to call on them when he was not around—the day he had gone to Tunbridge Wells, for instance, or of a morning when he was in his study working. The thought that Laura didn’t want James with her left a slender thread of emptiness in its wake.

  “They make an attractive couple, don’t they?”

  Salstone, of course. The man had a knack for showing up when James least wanted to see him. James turned, polite inquiry on his face. “Who does?”

  Salstone gave an irritating chuckle. Blast the man; it was he who had first put this maggot of doubt in James’s head. For that reason alone, James ought to dismiss the idea.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” James said with a little fillip of satisfaction at the wary look that entered Archie’s eyes.

  “Talk away.” Salstone surveyed the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “I understand you’ve run up a bit of debt in London.”

  Archie shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Where’d you hear that?”

  James gave him the smile he’d perfected over the years, a thin lift of the lips that contained a predatory anticipation. “Archie, dear fellow, do you think I don’t keep up with what you’ve been doing in London? Don’t you know roulette’s a fool’s game?”

  “The house cheated; the wheel was fixed.”

  “No doubt you’re right.”

  “I know better than to go back there now.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, since I daresay they won’t let you in anymore.”

  His brother-in-law shrugged in a semblance of nonchalance.

  James went on, “More worrisome, of course, are your notes to Cuddington and Lord Welborne. Not paying your gentlemanly debts will turn everyone against you—but you are already aware of that, aren’t you?”

  “What is your point?” Salstone flushed with anger.

  “Just this, Archie: I am prepared to pay off your debts.”

  Archie’s eyes widened. “I—I say, de Vere, that’s damned decent of you.”

  “There are conditions.”

  “I might have known,” Archie said with some bitterness.

  “First, you will give up your women on the side. I refuse to allow you to treat Patricia with so little respect.”

  Archie bristled. “Patsy doesn’t know.”

  “I know. Half the peerage knows. My mother knows. Do you honestly think Patricia isn’t aware, no matter how much she may pretend otherwise?”

  Salstone glared at him, but finally he said grudgingly, “Yes, very well. I agree.”

  “All of them, Archie. No mistresses, no prostitutes, no chasing the upstairs maid about. And if you believe I won’t know, think again.”

  “You have no right!”

  “Just as I have no obligation to pay your debts. If you want one, you take the other.”

  “Yes!” Salstone ground out. “Yes, I will give them up.”

  “Good. Now, for the rest of it—”

  “There’s more? What the devil do you want from me?”

  “I want you to be a decent man, or at least as much of one as you can be. You are also to give up gambling. I have a house in York where you and Patsy may live.”

  “York! You’re exiling me to York?”

  “My first thought was Scotland, but I suspected Patricia might have hysterics.”

  “I should think so. Why even bother to clear up my debts if I can’t go back to London?”

  “You can go to London if you limit yourself to one month a year. That will give you and Patsy an opportunity to visit without taxing your resolve to abstain from your vices. York is large enough that you and Patricia will have ample entertainment and society. And the two of you will have a home of your own. Patricia can be mistress of her own household. You won’t have to live here or at your father’s. You can be your own man.”

  “My own man! To do what?”

  “I don’t know, Archie. I suppose you will have to figure that out.”

  “But . . . York! Why York?”

  “For one thing, because I happen to own a house there.”

  “Because it’s far away from you,” Salstone shot back.

  “That does add to its appeal,” James agreed. “I have corresponded with your father, and he has agreed to increase your allowance since you will have a household of your own. I will also set up a regular payment from the trust—income only, you understand.”

  “And what if I don’t agree to this . . . this . . . prison?”

  “A rather luxurious prison. And one which you yourself will have the running of. I cannot force you, obviously. But if you want the income from your father and from Patsy’s trust, if you want a place of your own in which to live, if you want your present debts paid so that you can show your face in London, then you will do this.”

  “I haven’t got much choice, have I?” Salstone asked bitterly.

  “You have a choice. It’s just that one option is not very agreeable.” James leaned closer. “And, believe me, Archie, if you break trust with me, I will find out. Then you are finished. I will never pay another debt of yours. Your father will cut off your money, and I won’t give you a cent from the trust. You will no longer be welcome in my home.”

  “Patsy’s your own sister!”

  “Patsy can live here. Not you.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “You aren’t the first to say so. Do you agree or not?”

  Salstone stared at him for a long moment, then burst out, “Yes! Yes, damn you, I agree.”

  James gave him a short nod and turned away. The waltz had ended, and Laura and Graeme were wending their way toward him. James went to meet them, his dark mood lifting, as it always did, when Laura smiled at him.

  “I believe the next dance is mine,” he said, and led her out onto the floor to take her in his arms.

  Later in the evening, as the ball began to show signs of winding down, James and Graeme made their way to James’s study to enjoy a glass of brandy. Graeme leaned back with a sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Aunt Tessa’s party was a success, it seems.”

  “I’m sure she’s pleased.” James took a sip of brandy as he watched his cousin. Despite his cheerful words, Graeme was frowning slightly, his gaze on his hand as he turned his glass around aimlessly. James waited a moment, then said, “For pity’s sake, Graeme, out with it.”

  “What?” Graeme turned toward him, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re the one who suggested we have a drink away from the party, and I doubt you were intent on complimenting my mother’s party. You’ve something on your mind. Say it and have done with it. I promised Laura another waltz.”

  “Well, um, actually, it’s about Laura.”

  “What about Laura?” James frowned.

  “Nothing, really.” Graeme set down his drink. “It’s just . . . I wanted to ask you to . . . pl
ease be careful.”

  James’s eyebrows soared. “What the devil are you on about? What do you mean, be careful? Of what? Who?”

  “I would hate for Laura to be hurt.”

  That brought James upright from his casual pose. His tone as icy as his eyes, he said, “I beg your pardon. Are you suggesting that I would harm Laura?”

  “No, of course not,” Graeme replied hastily. “I know you would never try to hurt her.”

  “So it’s just that I am likely to do so without trying? Is that it? That I am so unfeeling, so boorish, I will mangle her and never even notice?”

  Graeme stared. “No, of course not. Good Lord, James. Calm down.”

  “I am perfectly calm. Dead calm. Despite what you and others might think, I don’t delight in kicking puppies and pulling the wings off flies. I have no interest in making Laura unhappy. I cannot change the fact that we are married. I didn’t set out to tie her to me irrevocably, to force her to spend her life with me. But—”

  “Bloody hell, would you stop putting words in my mouth?” Graeme snapped back. “I never said any of that. I know you married her with the best of intentions.”

  “It is just the result that makes her unhappy.” The rush of anger drained out of James as quickly as it had come, leaving him empty and faintly sick. He set his mouth grimly. “Did she come to cry on your shoulder? What is it Laura wants? She could have told me herself.”

  “No! Good Lord, James, why would you assume that? You misunderstand. Laura has said nothing to me. She’s not unhappy about your marriage. Not at all. It’s just the opposite; she seems very happy. Giddy, almost.”

  Relief flooded James. “Then what the devil are you talking about?”

  Graeme sighed. “James, you know I want the best of everything for you. I’m glad you married Laura. My sincerest hope is that you find the same sort of happiness Abby and I have. But I worry a bit because Laura is the sort of woman who puts her whole heart into everything she does. I hope you won’t, um . . .”

  “Break her heart,” James said flatly.

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re right. But I’m fond of Laura.”