Vanessa shook her head.
He frowned. “Surely you have conditions of your own? A particular sum of money you must be possessed of at regular intervals?”
“I had not given it any particular thought.”
“And yet you have given most particular thought to the needs of your servants and your horse,” said Northbridge. His grey eyes held an inquiring light and the lines about his mouth appeared to soften.
“I assume you would prefer a quiet wedding?” he asked.
Vanessa stared up at him, indignation kindling.
“I do not!” she declared. “I want no paltry affair. I expect the announcement to be in all the papers, to wear an exquisite bride dress, and to have all the accoutrements that might be afforded a duchess-to-be.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I am learning that it will only go against me to make assumptions about you, Miss Fitzwilliam.”
“You must do as you please, sir,” she said, disallowing any softening toward him, even though a flame leapt inside her as his mouth lifted in a half smile that caught her unawares. “As I’m certain you always have.”
She swiveled on her boot heel, snatched up her hat and prepared to leave, but was astounded to find herself caught by one strong hand about her arm.
She whirled around to face him, cheeks aflame. “Unhand me!”
“These occasions are generally settled with a kiss.” He pulled her to him and brought his mouth hard down on hers.
Deep inside sprang a slow, throbbing heat unlike anything she had ever experienced. She was aware of her breasts rounding, her nipples furling like tight spring buds. Her lips softened and parted and her heart leapt at the unexpected touch of his tongue.
After a breath-taking moment he put her away, his hands like brands on her shoulders. A soft growl emanated from somewhere deep inside him. His breathing had quickened, a deep flush scored his cheekbones. The scar at the corner of his mouth stood out whitely.
A light kindled in his eyes and Vanessa felt herself as a candle, melting into his heat. “You should go now,” he growled. “I will make all the arrangements.”
Vanessa stumbled away. Her face felt feverish, her heart pounded against her ribs. He called a name and a footman came to show her downstairs. The stable boy brought Morgana to her and Vanessa allowed him to assist her to mount. She did not think her legs had strength enough to find the saddle.
She threw a look upward and saw Northbridge standing by the window. Even at that distance, his gaze scorched her. She turned Morgana and fled from the castle, her body heated with a yearning she did not fully understand.
She had not even reached the gates when she brought a gloved hand shakily to her mouth and pressed it against lips that still savored the taste of Northbridge.
Chapter Four
Two days before her wedding Vanessa returned to Melrose Court. She arrived laden, as she had been on the preceding weeks in London, with silks, shawls, and linen, having left orders at other establishments and been fitted for yet more gowns at the house of an exciting new modiste hidden away in a Mayfair side street.
She’d been allocated her own wing in the London residence of Northbridge’s ancient aunt, and the chaperonage of not one, but two almost equally ancient female cousins. Vanessa didn’t think she’d ever been lonelier.
Although she had stipulated to Northbridge that he make preparations for a grand wedding, the first few days in London with her stiff, elderly companions had been enough to alter her viewpoint. Melrose had been her only home. Her parents were buried side-by-side next to the little stone church in the village. She had a longing to be married on her home ground. When she left her beloved Melrose on her wedding day it would likely be for the last time, ever.
Now, with Pansy in attendance, she flung the new purchases onto the growing pile in her bedchamber. Even the bed was strewn with packets, slippers and shoes, ribbons, muslins and laces of only the finest quality.
Her bride gown hung on a high hook, still cloaked in its linen cover. A pair of satin slippers of the palest aquamarine stood isolated on the floor beneath.
As Vanessa stared with a kind of horror at the accumulated collection, Mrs. Shearwater lumbered into the room.
“You look done in, m’love,” she scolded, as she assisted Vanessa to remove her pelisse. “I expect there has been nothing but shopping and parties and dinners and teas and visiting these past four weeks in London town. You need to rest.”
Vanessa turned her gaze to her old cook. “Do I, Mrs. Shearwater?” She felt feverish and tearful and she could not seem to lift her mouth into even the semblance of a smile. Even the ribbons on her bonnet wilted under her chin as if they had not the energy to maintain their crisp bow.
“Just you pop into bed and have a nap before dinnertime,” said Mrs. Shearwater, turning down the bedcover and plumping the pillows.
Vanessa acquiesced to Pansy undressing her while Mrs. Shearwater returned to the kitchen to prepare a tisane, and then allowed them both to tuck her into a cleared portion of the bed before they tiptoed away, clucking softly to each other like two hens in search of a lost chick.
But no matter how often Vanessa rearranged the pillows or kicked the covers aside and drew them back up again, no matter how she tossed and turned, she could not rest. Not even the frenzy of shopping, the delights of shoes and boots crafted by true artisans, could submerge her anxiety about her coming nuptials.
She was grateful to Mrs. Shearwater and Pansy for their help, but wished she had another female to speak to, or to stand beside her on her wedding day. She would have chosen her mother’s old friend Lady Hunter, but Lady Hunter was away wih her husband and their daughter, Sophia.
Finally, she scrambled out of bed and threw on a walking dress of no determinate color. Swirling a worn cloak about her shoulders, she slipped downstairs into a bright spring evening edged with the promise of twilight.
When she reached her destination, she sank onto a mossy log, uncaring of stains or damp. Huggleton Brook ran as it always did and, as she always did, Vanessa marveled at the freedom of running water finding its own way through the landscape and out to the ocean.
“Vanessa?”
She leapt up and whipped around to see Northbridge standing behind her, the reins of a magnificent charcoal stallion loosely clasped in his ungloved hand.
She brought her hand to her throat.
“Your Grace,” she said. The pulse in her neck throbbed beneath her fingers.
A muscle flickered along his jaw. “As we are soon to be man and wife, you do not need to address me by my title. My friends call me Ash.”
“I am not your friend.”
A breeze whipped up the brook, whisking her hood away from her face. When Vanessa had slipped away from her bedroom, she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the glass. As Northbridge’s gaze studied her features with what seemed like uncommon care, she knew he also took note of her ghost-like pallor and the lavender shadows beneath her eyes.
“I apologize if I have intruded upon your privacy.”
Vanessa swallowed around the painful lump that had risen in her throat. “I had been thinking of my father,” she said in a low voice. “He would have liked to be here on my wedding day.”
Northbridge’s hands tightened on the reins. He made no movement toward her, but tilted his head expectantly as if silently urging her to continue.
“Had I stayed at Melrose that night instead of flitting off to Lady Harrison’s ball, I might have prevented his death,” continued Vanessa, dashing a hand across her eyes to swipe away the threat of tears. “He had asked me to stay but I laughed and called him an old stodge. I had bought a new gown especially for the occasion. Oh, why didn’t he tell me his true situation?”
Despite the turmoil inside her she held herself rigid and Northbridge kept his distance. He had made it clear theirs was a business arrangement and she would not weep in front of him.
He raised a hand to his stallion’s arched neck and smoo
thed the shining coat. “You should not blame yourself. Remember, it was you who told me so only a short time ago,” he said, sending her a smile that lightened his ravaged features.
Vanessa folded her arms across her waist. “What did you do when Patrick was killed?”
Northbridge looked up at the violet sky where a single star shone like a beacon. “I wept. I raged. I shook my fists at the skies and cursed all the gods in creation. I’m ashamed to say I took it out on my men.” He returned his somber gaze to her. “I vowed never to love another living being because all I loved had either not returned my love or had been taken from me.”
A stifled sob escaped Vanessa.
“Your father chose to take his own life,” Northbridge insisted with brutal emphasis. “You must absolve yourself from any blame. I daresay he was trying to protect you from the truth of his circumstances.”
Vanessa’s heart constricted. “I did not require his protection, but I wish he had confided in me.”
His face darkened. “And then you would not have been obliged to marry me.”
“You should not have blackmailed me into it.” His mouth thinned. “Have you had everything
you require in these past weeks?”
Vanessa nodded. “Everything has been entirely satisfactory. You have more than met your side of the bargain.”
His hand stilled on the stallion’s glossy coat. “Will it be so terrible to be my wife?”
Vanessa took in his tall figure. He had met her conditions with extreme generosity and she could rest easily that her old retainers would live out their lives in comfort.
Even the most avaricious bride would have been gratified at the extravagance of Vanessa’s marriage settlement. She had entry into the most prestigious houses. Northbridge had escorted her to function after function and stared down the haughtiest members of the Ton who might have queried his choice.
Except that he could never love her, she knew it would not be so terrible to be the wife of Northbridge.
She shook her head mutely but gave him no encouragement to interrogate any further.
His gaze went beyond her to their surroundings. Willows greened along the banks. A shallow pool, gilded with golden light, rippled behind Vanessa. Upstream, fast-running water flowed over smooth rocks. Twilight gathered across the fields lending all around a smudged violet light.
After a moment he said, “Do you remember we met here once before?”
Vanessa’s gaze flew to his. “I do remember!” “You had escaped your aunt, as I recall.” Vanessa nodded. “I had not long before lost my
mother. My aunt had come to live at Melrose, but Aunt Genevieve was stern company for a grieving girl and due to my parents’ liberal leanings with me, I had not been brought up to be especially obedient.”
Northbridge’s mouth relaxed. “I too was on the run. I spent most of my boyhood away from Ashton Castle, but my father had decided the time had come when I should be made familiar with our family seat. I was under the guard of a tutor whom I expressly disliked.”
“Were your parents with you?”
“My parents were never with me,” Northbridge said without emotion. “Except for Patrick, I was brought up mostly alone and sent away to school at an early age.”
He shifted his position. “You have seen Ashton Castle and must be able to imagine how isolated a boy would feel in that echoing great place.”
“You taught me to skip stones across the water,” said Vanessa, unable to prevent her lips curving into a smile.
“You showed me how to make a chain of daisies.” His stern mouth softened.
It seemed inconceivable to Vanessa that this adult Duke of Northbridge would ever wear a daisy chain about his head as that boy had.
Perhaps he thought the same, for he took his hand away from the stallion’s neck and brushed it across his hatless head.
A smile played on Vanessa’s lips. “We tickled trout.”
“We didn’t speak of our personal circumstances,” said Northbridge. “Even then, we hid our pain.”
“We were but children,” she said wistfully.
“And now we are man and woman.” Northbridge’s voice was deep and strangely tender.
Vanessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We would have been soundly whipped, should we have been discovered. Me with my petticoats tucked into my drawers and you without even an undershirt…”
Her eyes met his in the purple light and she saw again that flame leap into his pupils. His body stiffened as if he had been drilled through with a metal rod.
Warmth stole through Vanessa’s limbs. The breeze pressed her cloak about her, molding her breasts.
She began to move away but stumbled over a low mound. Northbridge was suddenly there, holding her elbow, the heat fromhis touch burning like a brand.
“It is almost dark,” he said. “I will see you home.”
Vanessa knew the landscape about Melrose as well as any night creature, but before she could protest she found herself in Northbridge’s arms. His breath was warm against her cheek.
As he lifted her onto the saddle the rough cloth of his sleeve scraped the tender skin above her boot. Tendrils of excitement radiated through her, gathering in a melting warmth at the rounded fork of her thighs.
When he would have spoken to her, she turned her head away. Her withdrawal made his touch distant and he collected the reins, turned and led his mount toward Melrose.
Vanessa buried her fingers in the stallion’s coarse mane. Panic built inside her. On the day after tomorrow at Ashton Castle, Northbridge would be expecting to bed an experienced woman. How would he react when he found she was short on at least one of his desired qualifications?
Chapter Five
The new Duchess of Northbridge pasted a glittering smile to her face as she stepped out of the church on Northbridge’s arm.
“You ain’t happy, m’love,”declared Mrs. Shearwater, enveloping her in a fierce hug.
Vanessa clung to Mrs. Shearwater. “Happiness is not the perquisite of a duchess,” she said, burying her face for just a moment in the comfort of the old cook’s shoulder.
The slight pressure of Northbridge’s hand at her elbow made her straighten, though she turned away from his inquiring gaze, unwilling to show her vulnerability to this man who was now her master, at least in the eyes of the world.
Head high, she trod the gauntlet of well-wishers. Fragrant herbs were strewn under their feet. Villagers scattered rice and flowers. Northbridge’s smile was severe but the pressure of his thigh was warm against her hip.
She managed to prolong the wedding breakfast. The vicar and other local dignitaries were only too pleased to imbibe more of the fine wines from the duke’s cellar. Northbridge’s ancient aunts in their lace caps and fusty black gowns did not demur when Vanessa urged them to take more meat, more of the rich cakes especially prepared.
But the time came when every guest had gone and, except for the servants, she was alone with Northbridge. It was late in the afternoon. Rays of sunshine poured through the windows of Ashton Castle.
Vanessa looked for Pansy.
“I have given your maid leave to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with her family in the village,” said Northbridge.
Vanessa’s eyes widened. “I should like to be advised of such arrangements!”
“I will inform you should I need to make a similar arrangement in future.”
Vanessa swallowed. “How shall I be undressed?” Northbridge’s eyes glowed. “I shall assist.”
“You are outrageous, sir!” Her voice trembled.
He came toward her and lifted her hands to his
mouth. The gold band gleamed on her third finger as his lips caressed her skin. “Come, Vanessa.”
He scooped her into his arms and held her against his chest. He smelled of fine linen and spice. His cheek was rough against hers.
“Northbridge…I must tell you something…” “Tell me nothing.” His hand curved
around her
breast.
“But—”
“Hush. We will have much time to speak over the next days.”
He carried her out of Ashton Castle, down the broad steps, and into a sleek phaeton with the Northbridge crest marked out in gold.
Vanessa looked up into his face. “Where are we going?”
He nestled her into the open seat and tucked her all around with lavish furs. “Ashton is too cold and vast a place, too thick with servants for our wedding night. I am taking you to a lodge where I had happy times as a young man. It is situated privately and is more conducive to our first night as man and wife.”
Vanessa shivered.
He did not call for a driver but took the position himself, cracking his whip over the rumps of two fine white geldings that put their chests to the traces and sprinted away as if the carriage and its occupants were weightless.
They sped through the glimmering afternoon. The horses’ coats gleamed like silver. The scent of wild violets and sweet spring grasses swept along with them.
Dusk had crept across the countryside when they came at last to a stone building nestled in a forest clearing. Lighted sconces lined their approach and every window glowed.
Northbridge drew the carriage to a halt, extracted Vanessa from her furs and handed her down. When she would have removed her hand, he folded it into the crook of his arm and brought her close against his side.
There must have been a groom because Vanessa heard the horses being taken quietly away, but she saw no sign of any other human.
At the foot of the stone stairs Northbridge lifted her in his arms, holding her against his chest, and carried her as if she were something indescribably precious. His lips feathered her hair. Vanessa allowed her arms to curl about his neck. Perhaps he could not ever love her but she must trust Northbridge to show her how to be his wife.
Inside, a fire made a spacious hall warm. Polished furniture gleamed, pewter shone on timbered walls, flowers filled every corner. Northbridge carried her to a flight of broad, shallow stairs.
The Duke's Blackmailed Bride: Northbridge Brides Series Page 3