His brother frowned. “The Earl of Montclair visited our box.” Bloody Montclair. “He indicated that you’d called for your carriage and advised me to escort Chloe to the entrance of the theatre.”
He curled his fists into tight balls. A hungering to hunt down the man who’d quite adroitly destroyed his and Jane’s life thrummed through him with a life-like force. “I’ll kill him.”
Alex rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Montclair’s machinations aside, you were, in fact, the one in the alcove with the lady.” Some of the fight left him, replaced with a stinging shame. “Montclair should not be the matter of discussion but rather your marriage to Mrs. Munroe.”
Oh, Christ. Gabriel took a long, fast swallow of his drink and welcomed the burn of liquor down his throat. Why did Alex have to be right in this regard? He expected more laughter from his affable, always in a good humor brother. Except when he looked at his brother, there was an uncharacteristic solemnity to him.
“All these years we’ve spent thinking we are nothing alike,” Alex said quietly. “I was the rogue and,” he motioned to Gabriel, “you were the responsible, always in control marquess.” His lips formed a wry grin. “And yet, only now do we discover how very similar we are.”
Gabriel stared into the contents of his glass. Alex had been the brave, indomitable one who’d put an end to their father’s abuse. Gabriel had merely been the sniveling, cowardly, pathetic excuse of an older brother. “We are nothing alike,” he whispered, and as those words filtered about them, he looked up hastily. His brother studied him through those mirror-like eyes of his own shade of green and Gabriel silently cursed. “I did not mean it as an insult.” He’d mucked up his relationship with Alex long ago. Though they’d begun to reassemble the broken pieces, neither had they fully healed. Perhaps they never would.
Alex waved him off. “But we are. No matter your protestations and the cool mask you’ve donned. Both of us, all of us, have protected ourselves these years.” He waggled an eyebrow. “Oh, you’ve done a rather impressive job of convincing me and likely most of the world that you don’t care. But you do. We all do. We’ve just protected ourselves in different ways.”
Gabriel gave his glass a swirl and looked down into the amber contents once more.
“Now, there is the matter of introducing Mrs. Munroe to polite Society.” Gabriel tightened his hold upon his glass. The prospect of Jane facing down condescending lords and ladies twisted at his insides. He didn’t give a jot for how the ton treated him, but by God if they hurt her… “There will be gossip.” Alex frowned, likely remembering his wife’s struggle in reentering Society after her own scandal involving her previous, and disloyal, betrothed. “We will of course help you. Once you are wed, I will enlist the aid of Lord Primly and Lord Wessex. They will help smooth her way.”
Lord Primly. An unlikely friend to his brother. With a stammer and a kind disposition, the Earl of Primly would be a perfect ally for Jane. For them. Lord Wessex, however, a notorious rogue was the more expected company for his once roguish brother to keep. “Wessex?” he asked with a scowl. He’d rather the charmer nowhere near Jane.
“Yes, Wessex. A dance, perhaps. Just to throw his support behind the young lady.”
Jealousy rooted around his belly. He nodded slowly.
“I’ll speak to them after you’re married.”
Ah, God, there it was again. That word. Married. Gabriel shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet. He set his glass down. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said priding himself on the steadiness of those words.
“Of course,” Alex said and came to his feet with the same calm he’d always exhibited through life.
Gabriel had his hand upon the door handle when his brother called out.
“I was certain I didn’t want a thing to do with love,” Alex’s quiet pronouncement brought him back around. “I was certain I didn’t need anyone. It was far safer to love none and depend on no one,” or be needed by anyone. “Do you know what I ultimately realized, Gabriel?”
He gave his head a slight shake.
“Saying I didn’t care and believing myself incapable of love, or being loved, well, that did not make it true.” Alex took a slow sip. “Imogen showed me that.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room; two brothers who’d been embittered against one another for too long, now talking about personal matters that gentlemen did not discuss. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for—”
“Do not thank me again for looking after your Jane.”
“She is not—”
At his brother’s arched brow, he closed his mouth, and then beat a bow. “I—”
“I know,” Alex consoled.
And as Gabriel took his leave, he had the feeling that his brother did know a good deal more than he’d credited him with all these years which only left him to wonder—how many other things had he been wrong about all these years?
Chapter 23
They were wed the following morning. Lightning slashed across the dark, London sky and a flash of blue light zigzagged outside the windowpane.
It was a sign.
Jane stood, frozen with her gaze trained on the opened curtains as panic built in her chest. It swelled and grew until breathing became impossible.
She could not—
Gabriel leaned down. “Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear.
She jumped and looked unblinkingly up at him. How could he be so calm and unaffected? He asked whether or not she was all right? Was she all right? She was a bloody mess. “Fine?” she said quietly for his ears. After all, what was one more lie in the scheme of their relationship?
“Is that a question?”
Well, yes, she supposed it was. “No. I am fine.” She registered the expectant look on the aging vicar’s face. He wanted something. What did he want? Jane looked hopefully out at the small, collection of guests present—a smiling Imogen and her grinning husband. An equally happy Chloe. Then there was the stranger she’d not met before. The Earl of Waterson, who’d eyed her with a deserved suspicion since he’d claimed his seat as witness. Panic threatened to overtake her. It ripped at her thoughts and robbed her reason. Why would everyone be so happy? And why was she staring back at them? She wrinkled her brow…
“Ahem.” The vicar coughed into his hand and jerked her attention back.
“I believe this is where you recite your portion of the vows,” Gabriel drawled close to her ear, his breath stirred a loose curl and she brushed back the bothersome strand.
How could he be so unaffected? How—“I Jane Madeline Munroe,” she repeated after the vicar. “Take thee Gabriel—” her mind raced. I do not even know his name in its absolute entirety. Her mouth went dry at the absolute madness of a man who wanted nothing more from her than two months to see his sister wed and would then send her on her way.
Gabriel spoke in low tones. “Garmund Randolph Edgerton.”
A long, distinguished name given to a respected, proper, nobleman’s son. “Take thee, Gabriel G-Garmund,” her mouth tripped involuntarily over the running of his name. “Randolph Edgerton, to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold,” for two months’ time. “From this day forward,” she squeezed out on a tight whisper. “For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health…” The vicar stared expectantly back at her. Her throat worked in a reflexive swallow. She was not different than her mother. Oh, she would have a legal union and a lofty title, but in uttering these final words she’d sell herself for three thousand pounds and the dream of her school, to a man who’d never love her or cherish her or want anything more of her…than these two months.
She jumped as Gabriel touched the small of her back. Jane cast her gaze up to his and willed him to have the sense to end this façade even as she wanted it to continue on.
“Mrs. Munroe?” there was a faint entreaty in the vicar’s tone.
For what she knew was expected of her, Jane could not call forth the rem
ainder of her vows. She glanced back once more at the row of Gabriel’s family members seated, with expressions that conveyed the first real doubt she’d seen until now that the marriage between Jane and Gabriel might not, in fact, happen.
Then Gabriel captured her hand in his and her skin heated at his touch. She looked to him. If he commanded her with his words or eyes, she’d damn the three thousand pounds her father had settled upon her to the devil. He angled his body in a way that shielded them from his family’s stares. “I will be good to you,” he pledged. “You will always be cared for.”
The duke, her father had cared for her mother. But this vow made by Gabriel was not one founded on the sale of her body or pride. Jane drew in a steadying breath as calm settled over her. “I, Jane Madeline Munroe, take thee Gabriel Garmund Randolph Edgerton to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
And just like that the ceremony continued and then concluded in short order with Jane Munroe, bastard without a family, finding herself in the close-knit fold of Gabriel’s kin. With a flurry of signing and hushed conversation in the background, she was now something she’d forever sworn to never be…or at least never imagined for herself—married.
“I have had Cook prepare breakfast for the occasion,” Imogen said with the cheer Jane had come to expect of her. The collection of guests, along with the vicar, took that as their opportunity to depart the happy festivities, leaving Jane and Gabriel momentarily alone.
Alone.
Which wasn’t altogether different than they’d been on many occasions. This, however, was altogether different. Now they were united in the bonds of marriage.
Gabriel brushed his knuckles down the ridge of her cheeks with such gentleness he brought her eyes fluttering closed. “I expect there are regrets for the cold union you’ve found yourself in.”
At the softly spoken pronouncement, she snapped her eyes open. How could he speak so casually about their marriage? Then, it wasn’t really a marriage. “What regrets should I have?” she said past tight lips. “I am, as you said, assured the protection of your name and will have security I’ve never been afforded before.” She made to step around him, but he blocked her path.
“Your finishing school.”
She stared confusedly up at him.
“You did not mention the funds you now have to establish your school.”
Jane started. Why…he was indeed, correct. She hadn’t. “Of course, there will be my finishing school.” Though, now that they were wedded, it would really be his finishing school. She took another step around him and this time he did not block her retreat. She’d reached the door, when a question pressing on her all evening brought her spinning back around. “You would allow your wife, your marchioness to establish and run a school.” The scandal of it would surely be gossiped about for years.
He walked over and then came to a stop before her. “I would.”
“Why?” Was it because he, in some way, had come to care for her enough that he’d allow her that freedom?
“Because I think it is honorable, Jane. I think your efforts and goals are worthy and, for that, I don’t give a jot for Society’s opinion.”
“I am a bastard,” she felt compelled to point out. Bitterness tinged her words. She’d been reminded of that detail from the very moment she’d entered the world, as such, it was impossible to extricate herself from that distinction.
He pressed his thumb against her lips and rubbed the lower flesh. “My father was a monster,” he said, jerking her attention up to him. “He beat my brother and my sisters…”
“And you,” she finished when he let the obvious thought go unspoken.
“And me.” He gave a terse nod. “Society would see him as a man of worth and value for no other reason than the title he was born to and the noble blood coursing through his icy veins.” Suddenly, he stopped stroking her lip and she mourned the loss of that gentle touch. “The truth is, you have more worth than any bloody nobleman I’ve known, more worth than any person I know.” He gave his head a sad shake. “You deserved a true marriage, to a man worthy of you. Not me. I’m merely a name.”
Merely a name. That is all he believed himself to be? A sliver of her heart cracked away from the once whole organ and, in that moment, became his. No one had ever seen her worth beyond the circumstances of her ignoble birth. This man did. He might not want her in his bed or in his life, but he saw her worth. Selfishly, she wanted it all from him.
He offered her his elbow. Jane hesitated a moment and then placed her fingertips along his sleeve. The ripcord muscles rippled under her touch, hinting at a man who didn’t only see her in terms of finishing schools and companionship for his sister.
They stood there, unmoving, with a room of his family and his closest friend, and the vicar who’d wed waiting. The room echoed with the noticeable intakes of her breath. Or was that his? She looked up and found his gaze trained upon her mouth. He dipped his head and then hesitated, as though warring with himself.
I want you, too. She willed him to kiss her as he’d done at the theatre, before they’d been thrust into this uncertain world as wedded strangers. Then with his hesitancy, she made the decision for him. Jane leaned up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. He stiffened as she pressed herself against him but then, with a groan of surrender, he slanted his mouth over hers again and again. Lost was the restrained gentleman he’d been since the theatre two evenings ago. In his place was the man who’d wanted her.
Gabriel worked his hands down her body and settled them on her hips, dragging her even closer. She melted into him and opened to his fierce invasion. He stroked her tongue with his, over and over until a desperate moan escaped her. He swallowed that sound under the force of his kiss. Jane clung to him in a bid to stay upright, but he drove her back against the wall, anchoring her with the strength of his body.
She arched her neck and borrowed the support of the hard plaster. “What hold do you have upon me, Jane Munroe?” he rasped as he dragged a trail of kisses along the column of her throat. He nipped at the tender flesh where her pulse beat maddeningly for him and drew the skin into his mouth, suckling.
“Th-the same hold you have upon me,” she gasped as her eyes slid involuntarily closed. Gabriel moved his lips down the length of her neck, lower, to the swell of her décolletage. She fisted her hands in his hair and bit her lip hard as he touched his mouth to her skin. “I never knew I could feel like this,” she whispered as he continued to worship her with his searching caresses.
“Neither did I.” His breath came in deep, gasping breaths.
He returned his mouth to hers and she gave herself over to the power of his kiss. Their tongues danced in a forbidden ritual of lovers, thrust and parry, thrust and parry. Gabriel cupped her breast, molding his palm to the full contour and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She brought trembling hands to his hair, once again to hold him in place and never let go. Her lashes drifted closed and she, who’d fought this enigmatic pull he’d had upon her since their first meeting, let herself free to it—to him, to the possibility of them. “I love you,” she whispered.
He stopped; his head bent over her breast. His rapid breath warmed her skin.
“I love you,” she repeated when he still said nothing. She braced for the sudden rush of terror that making such an admission should cost her and yet it did not come. Days, weeks, or years, it mattered not how long a person knew another person; it mattered about the goodness of their soul and their hold upon a heart. Somehow, he’d shattered her resolve to protect her heart and live a life dependent upon no one but herself.
Gabriel’s body went taut and he released her with such alacrity, she would have stumbled if the wall hadn’t been at her back. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her breaths. He shook his head back an
d forth in a slow, repetitive manner.
She nodded. “I do,” she whispered and held her palms up. “I love—”
“Do not.” That harsh command cut across her declaration and killed the sentiments on her lips.
Her heart twisted at the horror stamped on the lines of his face. She managed a small smile and imagined it was a weak, pathetic attempt. “Not saying those words does not make them untrue, Gabriel.”
He took a step away from her, and then another, and another, until his legs knocked against the chair. With fingers that shook, he raked a hand through his tousled dark curls. “You d—”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“You don’t even like me.” There was an entreaty in those five words that if her heart weren’t breaking even now at his response, would have brought her to laughter.
She pushed the door closed, and toyed with the handle a moment, fixating on the shiny gold metal. “Am I a whore because my mother was?”
“Do not even say that,” he snapped out with a steely anger that stole the remainder of her heart.
Jane turned back to face him. “But isn’t that the company I keep? By your own admission of your status and worth, shouldn’t my value be weighed in a like manner?”
“It is not the same.” He swiped a hand over his face.
“Isn’t it?” She pushed away from the door and took a step toward him. “You cannot be a hypocrite and hold me above my birthright, and then not do the same for yourself.”
“You don’t love me,” he said over her, not seeming to hear her words.
“I do,” she said taking another step toward him.
A muscle jumped at the corner of his right eye. “You’d agreed to a marriage of convenience.” He paused. “Not even a day ago.” There was an accusatory bite to his words. “You are confusing gratitude with—”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do not even finish that, Gabriel Garmund Randolph Edgerton,” she said, grateful more than ever for the entirety of that grand name.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 132