The Gentleman's Scandalous Bride

by Lauren Royal

  Lily looked up with a dreamy smile. “I’m two weeks late.”

  “Oh, Lily!” Violet threw her arms around her.

  “Me, too,” Judith said shyly.

  Lily froze. “You’re not jesting?”

  “No,” Judith said, and they both let out excited little screams.

  Beaming, Lily turned from Violet’s arms into her friend’s. “Remember when you said we should be newly wedded together? Now we’re going to become mothers together, too!”

  Rose watched them embrace, slowly tying her abandoned laces in a bow while her own flat stomach churned. Lily and Judith and Ellen, all pregnant. And Violet had three children already.

  On this day that was supposed to be happy, she felt so left out. She reached for her stomacher and plastered it against her front, beginning to fasten the tabs. When would her turn come? Never, if Kit didn’t show up to marry her—

  “Edmund is thrilled,” Judith gushed. “What did Rand say?”

  “I haven’t told him yet.” Lily hugged herself round the middle as though she were protecting her child. “I wanted to be sure. We’ve been disappointed before—”

  “Oh, heavens,” Judith said. “You’ve been wed just two months. You must tell him. If he’s half as happy as Edmund, you’ll end up spending a night that makes you wonder if you could possibly conceive a second child when you’re already increasing with the first—”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks looking like she’d used a whole booklet of Spanish paper.

  Lily laughed. “I’ll tell him today.”

  “Tell who what?” came a voice from the doorway.

  Kit.

  Rose’s heart thundered beneath her laces.

  “Never mind,” Lily blurted.

  Kit locked his gaze on Rose, but she couldn’t read his face. “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding,” she said inanely. “It’s bad luck.”

  “I’ll risk it. I need to talk to you.”

  He looked so serious. The little breakfast she’d managed to choke down this morning was threatening to come back up.

  “Well…we’ll leave,” Lily said.

  “Excellent idea.” He waited by the door while the other three women scurried out, then shut it decisively behind them. “Do you need help with that?” he asked, indicating Rose’s half-attached stomacher.

  “No.” Her fingers began moving again, albeit shakily. He was walking closer. “Kit—”

  Her sentence was cut off when his mouth crushed down on hers. He kissed her with such heat and urgency that her knees threatened to buckle. By the time he broke contact, she was gasping for air, reeling with the sudden reversal of worry to elation.

  He kissed her chin, her throat, her collar bone above her dangling stomacher. “I love you so much,” he murmured against her skin. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I cannot wait for tonight.”

  A delicious shiver traveled through her body, even as she felt the itch of tears behind her eyes. “I was so afraid you’d hate me.”

  “Hate you?” Straightening, he lifted her chin until her gaze was forced to his. His incredible eyes searched hers. “Why?”

  ”For meddling in your affairs. I only wanted your happiness…”

  “Did you think I didn’t know that? Did you think I wouldn’t fall in love with you all over again when I realized you were willing to give up your inheritance to bring me and my sister together? What sort of fellow do you think I am?”

  She’d known what sort of fellow he was—and she suspected she was falling in love all over again, too. “You didn’t answer my letter.”

  “What letter?” His thumb moved from her chin, skimming tenderly over her cheek. “I never received any letter.”

  “I left it propped on your washstand.”

  He shrugged. “No one’s ever done anything that touched me the way you have. Hang it all, sweetheart, when I went to give Ellen her dowry and she told me—”

  “What?” She forgot about the missing letter as her hand flew up to grasp his wrist. “You gave Ellen her dowry?”

  “I tried to,” he said with a wry grin. “She told me you already had.” His gaze softened. “However was I lucky enough to win a girl as special as you?”

  Rose’s throat tightened. No one had ever called her special. “I should have known you would do the right thing.”

  He kissed her again, more gently this time, a tender kiss that brought her tears to the fore. No matter what he said, she knew she was the lucky one—lucky he hadn’t given up at the start, when she’d pushed him away for all the wrong reasons.

  And she was well aware she had her mother to thank for that gift.

  “No crying on your wedding day,” he said, wiping a rogue tear off her cheek with a warm thumb. “I’m sure that’s worse luck than having me see you before the ceremony.”

  She managed a watery chuckle.

  His hands went to finish attaching her stomacher. “You look beautiful.”

  “You look better,” she said, her pulse thumping madly under his fingers. He wore a deep green velvet suit with silver braid trim on the long waistcoat and the surcoat that went over it. Just enough lace fell from beneath his cuffs, and a tasteful diamond pin winked from the folds of his cravat.

  Perfect. If she’d noticed how he was dressed when he first appeared in her doorway, she could have spared herself a few anguished seconds of worry. No one would take him for anything but a groom.

  A heart-stoppingly handsome one.

  His fingers traced the pearl scrollwork on her stomacher. “I have something for you.” He pulled a small wooden box from his pocket. “I wasn’t sure what color you’d be wearing, but I think they will match.”

  She opened the lid to find an exquisite pair of earrings, two teardrop pearls swinging from clustered diamond tops. “They must have cost a fortune,” she gasped. She’d never seen such enormous pearls.

  He smiled as he took them from the box and moved closer to fasten them on her ears. “I may not be titled, but I’m hardly a pauper.”

  “I’m not wearing any earrings. I didn’t have any I wanted to wear.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, kissing a bare lobe before he decorated it. “I don’t ever want to see you wearing that deuced duke’s jewels again. In fact, I think you should pawn them. Permanently. I just happen to know of a pawnshop.”

  She laughed as he attached the second earring. When he was finished, he drew her close, running his hands over her back and down to her waist. She thrilled at the sensation of his hands on her.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She’d never tire of hearing those three words. “I love you, too.”

  “I love you in red.”

  “I’m glad.” His scent was making her dizzy. “My sisters both wore blue.”

  “I’d love to see you in blue, too.” He nipped her neck. “I’d love to see you in purple,” he said conversationally. “I’d love to see you in green. I’d love to see you in gold.”

  Each word warm against her skin set off a fizz of champagne bubbles in her stomach. She sighed, tilting her head to give him better access.

  His lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat. “But mostly,” he whispered wickedly, “I’d love to see you in nothing at all.”

  If her sisters hadn’t knocked on the door just then, she feared he might have.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  STANDING AT THE front of her family’s small, crowded chapel, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes and slipped her hand into Kit’s.

  “Christopher Martyn, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will.” The confident words boomed through the magnificent oak-paneled chamber, binding Kit to Rose.

  But Rose wasn�
�t listening to the ceremony. Instead she was thinking that Kit was the most handsome, intelligent, loving, and decent person she’d ever known. She was so glad he’d managed to burst her foolish bubble and make her realize what really counted.

  Love, clear and true.

  Happy tears brightened her mother’s brown eyes. Rose knew Mum believed Kit was perfect for her—and had done everything in her power to get them together. Her sisters, too, had braved Rose’s temper for the sake of securing her happiness. She was so grateful to them all.

  If she hadn’t been blessed with a family who would do anything for her, she wouldn’t be standing here with Kit.

  Her gaze wandered over the assembled guests, landing on Lily. Her younger sister stood next to Rand, her rich sable hair cascading to her shoulders in glossy ringlets, her lips curved in a way that made Rose think she’d just shared her secret. Beside her, Rand beamed a smile, looking like he wanted to shout to the world that he was going to be a father.

  The two were so clearly in love, Rose knew they belonged together—and she was thrilled for her sister. Thank goodness Lily had ended up with Rand, leaving her to find Kit.

  The priest cleared his throat and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Lady Rose Ashcroft, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”

  Standing on Lily’s right, their older sister Violet shifted one of her twin babies on her hip, gazing up at Ford. Sun streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting off her spectacles as she whispered something in his ear. It seemed they’d returned to their usual state of domestic bliss. No marriage was perfect, but love smoothed out the flaws.

  Holding their other infant, Ford squeezed his wife around the shoulders. Seated cross-legged at their feet, their three-year-old son Nicky traced a finger over the patterns in the colorful glazed tile floor, obliviously happy.

  Rose couldn’t wait to have a family of her own. She flashed a quick smile at Ellen where she stood beside Thomas, one hand in his and the other resting lightly on her middle. The niece or nephew growing there, Rose thought giddily, would someday be cousin to her own children.

  “…so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.

  In the hush that followed, Rose’s heart swelled. She’d thought her wedding day would never come.

  “I will,” she pledged, squeezing Kit’s hand.

  A few more words, a gorgeous ruby ring slipped onto her finger, and Rose and Kit were husband and wife, Mr. Christopher Martyn and Lady Rose Martyn.

  Once upon a time, she’d thought that disparity would bother her. But nothing could be further from the truth. When her new husband lowered his lips to meet hers, Rose threw her arms around him, propriety be hanged.

  To think she’d almost settled for being a mere duchess.

  Kit made her feel like a queen.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  ROSE COULDN’T remember ever hating idle chitchat more than she did late that afternoon. Idle chitchat was her nemesis.

  Especially when it contrived to keep her from her wedding night.

  “Farewell, Aunt Cecily, Aunt Arabel,” she said with a forced smile, kissing Mum’s sisters on both cheeks. She urged them down the portico’s steps to the lawn. “Thank you for coming.” As they finally walked away with their children, she leaned close to Kit’s ear. “I think that’s the last of our guests. We can leave now.”

  He glanced toward the river. “Soon.”

  As her curious gaze followed his, Jewel and Rowan stepped onto the portico. “I have something for you,” Jewel said.

  Rose looked down to find a box, exquisitely fashioned of colored, leaded glass. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.

  “Jewel made it,” Rowan informed them. “Her hands are covered in cuts.” His voice rang with admiration, as though blood and gore were badges of honor.

  “We’ll treasure it,” Kit told the girl. Taking the box, he reached to squeeze Rose around her waist. “Won’t we?”

  “Absolutely.” She tingled all up and down her side where he’d pulled her against him. “Thank you so very much,” she told Jewel. “I had no idea you worked with glass.”

  Jewel hid her scarred hands behind her back. “Mama and my little brother both make jewelry. I got tired of doing the same thing. I was looking at the windows in a church, and Papa told me how the lead is soldered like some of Mama’s jewelry. I thought I might like to try it.”

  Mum moved around Rose, plucking the last of the love-knots off her gown. She took the glass box from Kit, lifted the lid, and dropped the little red bows inside. “It’s over,” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh.

  Rose wished it were over. She wanted to be alone with Kit. “It was a beautiful wedding, Mum. Thank you for hosting it. And for…everything else.”

  The affection in Mum’s warm brown eyes told Rose her mother had got her meaning, though she tactfully let the subject drop. “I never really got to plan a big wedding,” Mum said instead, heaving a regretful sigh. “I shall have to do so for Rowan. A nice, long betrothal—”

  Rose’s laugh interrupted her. “Have you considered that Jewel might want to plan her own wedding? Or Jewel’s mother—”

  “Jewel?” Rowan’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not going to marry Jewel!”

  Kit gave the boy an indulgent smile. “Wait till you’re older—”

  “Never!” Rowan looked at Jewel with such horror, the girl shrank back.

  Rose pulled Kit aside. “May we leave now?” she asked.

  He confused her by glancing toward the river again. “I don’t think…ah, yes. Here’s our transportation.”

  Rose turned and stared at the beautiful, gilded barge rounding the bend and approaching Trentingham’s dock. “This is how we’re getting to Windsor? What about your carriage?”

  “Ellen and Thomas accompanied me here. I sent them home in it. You wouldn’t have wanted to ride back with them, would you?”

  “Not really.” She liked Kit’s sister well enough, but she was anxious to get her new husband to herself. “This is Ford’s barge. Was it his idea?”

  “Violet’s, actually. Who knew a romantic heart hid inside that intellectual exterior?”

  “Violet,” Rose said low, “talked of this barge back when she and Ford were courting. There’s a bed inside the cabin.”

  “Is that so?” Kit’s gaze intensified. “Well, let’s go then,” he said loudly, turning back to her family.

  “You know,” her father said for the third time, “it’s traditional for a girl to spend her first married night at her parents’ house.”

  “I’m only questioning convention,” Rose shouted.

  Her mother smiled. “When are you going to London, dear?”

  “The queen’s birthday celebration is Friday, so we’re thinking probably Wednesday.”

  “Windy?” Father frowned. “Yes, the wind does seem to be picking up.”

  “It certainly is, Father.” Rose shared an amused glance with Kit. “I think everyone should hurry inside.”

  A few hugs and kisses and maternal tears later, Rose and Kit crossed the lawn to the river and climbed aboard the barge. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They turned to bid farewell to her family, happy to be alone at last.

  Well, nearly alone. There was a crew, of course, to guide the vessel to Windsor. And a youth playing a violin, sheltered from the weather by the tall wall of the cabin that sat in the barge’s middle.

  Anticipation thrummed through Rose’s veins. She forced herself to stand at the rail, waving at her family until the barge pulled away. The wind was indeed picking up, whipping her skirts and hair. Her heart was accelerating, too, until it beat in a wild rhythm. Beside her, Kit felt warm and solid, an anchor and a temptation all at once.

  “Inside,” she demanded the moment Trentingham was out of view. She couldn’t get him into the cabin fast enough. No sooner had they slammed the door behind them than she threw herself at Kit.

  The k
iss, fierce and frenzied, cleared her mind of everything beyond the cabin. Violin music swirled through her head as her focus narrowed to soft lips, strong arms, and the singularly delicious scent of her husband. Somehow, he had become her world.

  When the barge rocked, threatening their balance, she took the opportunity to draw him deeper into the cabin, inching them both toward the bed.

  His laugh rumbled against her lips. “Aren’t you even a tiny bit nervous?” he asked, his fingers moving to detach the tabs of her stomacher.

  “A little,” she admitted breathlessly. “But that’s what makes it fun.”

  His breath hitched. “My daring Rose,” he murmured. Her stomacher dropped to the floor.

  She felt the bed against the back of her knees and sank down upon it, pulling him down with her.

  But what her bottom rested on was higher than a mattress. And harder. She put a hand back, feeling wood. She twisted in dismay, her eyes flying open. A wedding feast for two was spread on a gorgeous carved mahogany table surrounded by six matching chairs.

  There was no bed. “Where in heaven’s name is the bed?”

  “Hmm?” Deprived of her lips, Kit kissed her throat instead.

  “The bed. The bed is gone.” Disappointment dulled all the exciting, stormy sensations. “Kit, there’s no bed.”

  He raised his head and blinked. “You’re not jesting.”

  “Can we make do without it?” she asked desperately, though she couldn’t imagine how that would work.

  Kit laughed again, though with an obvious undertone of frustration. “No, sweetheart. This is our wedding night, for pity’s sake. We’ll wait for a bed.”

  His murky, olive-green eyes revealed that he was as vexed as she.

  Sconces on the beautifully paneled walls held flickering candles. “I suppose the journey isn’t that long,” Rose said doubtfully. But now that her heartbeat was calming and her faculties returning, she knew Kit was right. She didn’t want to give herself to her husband on the rough wooden deck of an old boat.

  “We’ll be there before we know it.” Pulling her onto his lap, he reached around her to fill two goblets from a waiting bottle of champagne. “I wonder what happened to the bed?”