by Emily Royal
How could Mama understand so little? Tears burned behind Jeanette’s eyes, but her resolve battled to stem the tears. She would not give anyone the satisfaction, least of all the man she’d married who stood in the corner engaged in conversation with Papa, body vibrating with barely suppressed fury.
“I never wanted to marry a title, Mama. I wanted a kind, honorable, hard-working man. Like Papa.”
“That would have been impossible, ma fille.”
Bile rose in her throat and she took a gulp of champagne to obliterate the taste. “Why? Because Papa is too far below the situation you aspire to?”
Mama’s shoulders slumped, making her shrink in stature. She shook her head. “No, cherie. It’s because another such man does not exist. I’ve seen much of the world, from the highest end of French society to the lowest. I’ve yet to meet a single man who could even begin to measure up to your papa.”
She lowered her voice. “Ma chere Jeanette, your chances of marrying a man who’d cherish you as you deserve were always small. Do not fall in love with Lord Ravenwell or he’ll break your heart. Hateful though society may be, we are part of it. Though I may reveal my feelings to you, I must conceal them from the world for your sisters’ sake. We must all make the best of what we have.”
“Then what can I do to be happy, Mama?”
“Take solace in the comfort your husband’s money and position can afford. And take care never to give him your heart.”
“I could never love him, Mama. Men like him prey on the less fortunate and frown upon those who seek an honest living. They live an idle life, displaying a carefully staged indifference to everything around them. They waste opportunities and privileges others could make such better use of. Just think what this country could achieve in the hands of honest, hard-working men!”
A shard of pain crossed Mama’s expression. The memory of the Terrors in France still pained her.
Jeanette took her hand. “Forgive me, I’d never support a cause of bloodshed. But I wish men like Papa were given the regard they deserve. Society cannot evolve through revolutions from the outside, but by stealthy progress from within.” She forced a smile. “Let me further the cause of equity by putting to use the resources of the marquis I snared. Come, Mama, we must toast my success!”
Mama’s face brightened before her smile dropped as if a seizure had taken her. Clamping her lips together, her eyes widened and she stepped back.
“Mama?”
A prickle of apprehension crawled over Jeanette’s skin. The scent of musk and spices overcame her senses, and the air thickened as if heralding an impending thunderstorm.
She turned and saw the source of the storm. Her new husband’s body cast a shadow which almost completely engulfed her. Nostrils flaring, he took in a slow, measured breath, but beneath the veneer of calm, his mouth, set in a hard line, quivered. Dark blue eyes bore into her, burning with rage.
Without a word, he turned and crossed the room in quick, angry footsteps.
Chapter Thirteen
Rupert’s laughter echoed in Henry’s mind as he stepped outside, followed by the rest of the wedding party. A whip cracked, and the carriage bearing his family crest rolled up and came to a halt beside him.
Oakville approached, hand outstretched.
“Surely you’re not congratulating me, Oakville?”
“No.” His friend shook his head. “I’m wishing you luck. Take consolation, my friend, from the fact that your bride seems as miserable about the union as you.”
“If anyone deserves compassion, it’s me, Oakville, not the scheming creature I’ve just married.”
What a damned fool he’d been, believing Jeanette stood apart from the soulless women who prowled society ballrooms hunting titles and fortunes. That she’d proven herself to be the same as the rest of them was perhaps no surprise. But the fact he’d been duped cut him deep. Having resolved never to make the same mistake as Father, Henry had failed at every turn.
Save one.
Love.
He’d not fail there. He would never be so foolish as to love his wife.
A footman opened the carriage door, but Henry remained still. Sir Robert Claybone gave an embarrassed cough, then helped his daughter inside. Henry climbed in after her. Ignoring her inquiry, he sat opposite her and stared out the window, his anger warring with the flood of heat in his blood at the prospect of claiming her body tonight.
The carriage set off with a lurch. Jeanette pitched forward and almost lost her seat, but suppressing his sense of gallantry, he sat unmoving while out of the corner of his eye he saw her resume her position and smooth down her skirt.
When the carriage arrived at their destination, Henry’s Mayfair residence, he pushed the door open and climbed out. After an awkward pause, his new wife followed.
Her foot slipped, and he grasped her arm as she winced. When she regained her balance, he released her and wiped his hand on his jacket.
A row of servants stood in a line leading to the main door.
Jeanette moved toward the door. If she didn’t learn how to behave properly, Henry would be a laughing stock. He snatched her wrist and hissed in her ear.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going inside.”
“The staff are waiting to give you the respect my title affords you,” he said. “The least you can do is show them similar courtesy and greet them.”
He tightened his grip. “I won’t have my servants gossiping about my wife’s lack of decorum and her low birth.”
She met his gaze, face flushed, eyes defiant. “I’m not ashamed of my background.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be.”
Ignoring the flare of guilt, he pushed her toward the servants. She showed no sign of the anger she must be feeling. Instead, she smiled and held her hand out to greet them, addressing each with a few words; first the butler and housekeeper, followed by the rest in descending order of rank.
At a word from Henry, they scuttled inside, disappearing behind different doors until one maid remained.
Jeanette crossed the hall floor, then stopped in the center, a lost expression on her face.
“Is there a problem?” he said.
“I don’t know where to go.”
Henry gestured to the maid. “Show my wife to her room.”
“This way, m’lady.” The maid bobbed a curtsey.
Henry called after her. “I’ll expect you in the library at seven o’clock.”
“What for?”
“It’s not your place to ask questions,” he replied. “I expect my household to do as they’re bid.”
“Very well,” she said quietly. She inclined her head, then followed the maid up the main staircase. He’d expected a retort, but she had merely obeyed him. Wasn’t that what he wanted? A biddable wife who understood her place?
But it was a hollow victory. Where had her spirit gone?
*
As Jeanette’s feet touched the elegantly tiled hall floor, tiny bells chimed a waterfall of tones which descended before a single note rang out, seven times.
Any one of the doors lining the walls could lead to the library. How was she expected to know which was which?
The butler appeared in a doorway and bowed.
“Lady Ravenwell.”
His face, though smoothed into the expressionless visage characteristic of the upper servants, bore accents of kindness. Together with his air of calm, he resembled Uncle George.
“Let me show you to the library.”
“Thank you. I don’t know where to go.”
Or what to do.
He issued a quick smile before smoothing his face again. “It’s always difficult at first for those unused to the customs of the aristocracy.”
“Therein lies the problem,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t belong.”
He turned and raised his eyebrows. Did all butlers undergo specialist training to ensure their ears registered every whispered word?
>
“My lady,” he said, “should you need help adjusting to your new position, I’d consider it my honor.”
He knocked on one of the doors, and a deep baritone answered.
“Enter.”
Jeanette stepped into the room. From floor to ceiling, every wall was covered in books. Sets of volumes formed regular patterns, gold leaf embossing winking in the light of the chandelier. The occasional spine of dark green or blood red lent accents of color to the shades of brown.
Did her new husband appreciate the books in his collection? Or did they gather dust quicker than the bookshelves gathered new volumes?
Henry sat at a large desk. He drew out his pocket watch and opened it. Frowning, he clicked it shut with a snap and motioned to Jeanette to stand in front of the desk.
“Is it your intention to interview me as you would a servant, sir, or do I have permission to sit in your presence?”
He nodded toward a chair. Very well, if he refused to speak, so would she. Many bullies used silence to intimidate their victims into saying more than they wished. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Levelling her gaze, she looked him directly in the eyes.
He blinked and broke eye contact.
“I summoned you here…”
“How dare…”
“Very well, I asked you here so I could explain what I expect of you, now you are my wife.” He curled his lip at the final word. “Your position as a marchioness makes it all the more imperative that you abide by the vows of obedience and fidelity you made today.”
He continued to lecture her on the behavior of a lady, who she could and could not fraternize with, and which servants would help her in her role.
“They’re busy with their own tasks and cannot be expected to spare too much of their time teaching you how to behave appropriately. I don’t wish to find their regular duties have been neglected due to this unexpected burden on their time.”
He cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing, goading her to respond.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Will that be all, husband?”
He paused, tapping his fingers on the desk, then nodded.
“Good,” she said. “May I explain what I expect of you?”
His cheek twitched. “I’m your husband. There’s nothing for you to expect. I see no reason why my lifestyle should be affected by the inconvenience of a wife.”
“May I inquire what you mean by inconvenience? Do you refer to your vow to honor and protect me? Or the vow of fidelity?”
He leaned forward, the coiled spring of anger snapping, a cold blue flame in his eyes. “I’ve paid for my mistake by marrying you. What I do is no concern of yours.”
Pain burst into her palm as she dug her fingernails into the flesh. “Thank you for explaining my situation so clearly.”
“I’m glad we understand one another,” he replied. “Now let us dine together. I’m anxious to see how you behave in private before I present you in public as my wife.”
A knock on the door interrupted her response, and the butler appeared. His eye twitched, and she could swear he winked at her before he bestowed a solemn butler-like expression on his master.
“Dinner is served.”
*
Jeanette pushed the piece of meat to the side of the plate. Her stomach already threatened to expel the previous course. Each time she’d placed the fork into her mouth, the cold watchful eyes of the man at the far end of the table had taken in every movement.
Four footmen accompanied them, two standing at the door and one at either end of the table. She pushed her plate away, and a liveried arm appeared on her left to remove it.
“Thank you.”
Henry slammed his glass on the table.
“We don’t thank the staff.”
“I thought civility was the mark of a lady,” she said, “and a gentleman.”
“To our equals, yes, but not our inferiors.”
She picked up her wineglass. “I was brought up to judge superiority and inferiority by a man’s treatment of others, not by his rank.”
Waving a dismissive hand, he stood and moved toward the door, not acknowledging the footman who rushed forward to take his chair.
“Where are you going?”
“To enjoy my port in peace.”
“Isn’t this our wedding night?”
“Eager for me already?” He cast her a dark glance. “Wait for me in your chamber.”
Before she could reply, he left the room. The footman behind her pulled back her chair as she moved to stand.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my lady.”
At least someone appreciated a little humanity.
*
Jeanette secured the lace at the front of her nightgown and sat on the chair beside the fireplace, curling her legs beneath her. The sputtering logs took her back to her childhood at Papa’s farmhouse, poking at the log fire, blowing at the embers until they burst into life with a warm orange flame. Her wound still ached, and she adjusted the bandage on her arm and waited.
The door flew open, and Henry strode in. He’d already removed his jacket, and his shirt lay open, revealing his chest. Muscles nestled together in pairs, covered with a dusting of dark hair which grew denser as her eyes travelled lower and her body began to pulse thickly with desire.
He swirled a brandy glass in his hand.
“Get on the bed, wife.”
“Can I have a brandy first?” Jeanette asked. Her body may have come alive at the sight of his hard, virile form ready to claim her, but her mind cried out with shame at her wantonness. Perhaps a brandy might muffle the voice in her head.
“No,” he growled. “Do as you’re told.”
He placed the glass down and tugged at the laces of his shirt and wrenched it over his head. Tossing it behind him, he moved toward her.
A knot formed in her stomach. “Will it hurt this time?”
He laughed softly. “You impugn my talents, Jeanette. I’ll make your body hum with pleasure and have you begging me to take you.”
He moved to the bed and gestured to her nightgown. “Do as I say and take that off.”
A surge of need coursed through her at his gruff command, and she drew a sharp breath to dissipate the fog of lust swirling in her mind. She lifted her nightgown, grimacing as it brushed against her bandage.
His potent masculine aroma thickened in the air, and he moved closer. He touched her shoulder and ran his fingertips across her throat until he reached the top of her breasts.
Her skin tightened as he traced a circle around her breast, moving inward until he reached her nipple, which sprang forward in a painful little point. His breath caught in his throat and a low moan escaped her lips as he pinched her nipple.
“Lie back.”
She shook her head.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Please…”
“Please, what?” he asked. “Take you to the heights of pleasure beyond your wildest dreams? You may think me a fool, Jeanette, but I know a willing woman when I see one.”
How could he read her mind so easily? She closed her eyes and turned her head away. His fingers continued to caress her breasts before a burning heat claimed her nipple and she cried out with the sweet agony of it. He had taken her breast into his mouth. His teeth grazed her flesh, and her body quivered at the sweet, exquisite torture. His throat rumbled in a deep growl, and a surge of heat rippled through her limbs before settling between her legs. The very place where she’d felt pain when he’d first taken her now pulsed to a different rhythm, a tempo of need.
He covered her body with his own and brushed his lips against her throat. He moved his mouth lower, and her breasts ached with longing. His lips drew closer, tantalizingly closer.
“Henry…”
He lifted his head at her soft whisper and blinked; then he lowered his head again, his mouth almost touching her breast while his breath cooled the moisture on
her skin, tightening it once more.
The longing grew unbearable, and she arched her back, offering her breast to him, willing him to ease the ache inside her.
He sat up, and a low chuckle bubbled in his throat.
“Not as reluctant as we said, are we?”
He raised his arms, stretching them with an air of nonchalance, then unfastened his breeches. He brushed his hand across the growing bulge at his groin and closed his eyes, jaw tightening as he inhaled sharply.
“I can smell your need for me…”
He stepped out of his breeches and crawled toward her. She had never seen a man completely naked before. His thick, hard member jutted toward her, shifting with each movement of his body. His size and confidence intimidated her.
“Open for me,” he urged gently.
“Henry, please, you’re so—so…”
“Big?” A dark smile crossed his lips. “Many women have said as much, but a woman’s body is made to accommodate a man’s, even one of my size. You’ll soon learn, particularly with your mathematical brain, that the size of the man inside you bears a direct proportion to the pleasure you’ll experience.”
He dipped his head to claim her breast again and delivered hungry kisses across her skin, insistent little nips to brand her as his own. The pulsing between her thighs grew stronger, and a wicked heat radiated through her limbs. Soft, expert fingers caressed her stomach, massaging her flesh in slow, sweeping circles before moving lower, toward the center of her need.
“Let me show you,” he whispered, his throat rumbling against her chest, “let me show you the pleasures I can give you.”
“Henry…” She reached up to him.
“No,” he growled. “Hands by your sides.”
Her body obeyed, compelled into submission, and she surrendered to his exquisite touch.
A slow heartbeat of need grew stronger with each movement of his fingers. She gave a low mewing cry as he dipped a finger between her thighs.
“So wet for me.”
He eased the tip of his finger inside her, and a rush of air filled her lungs as her body contracted.
“Only for me…”