Chapter 21

R ebekah rose to the morning sun shining through the curtains. She was not one to sleep late even though she'd gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning. She made her bed—yes, servants were supposed to make the bed, but she'd done it every day for the last twenty years.

Her mind drifted to last evening. The ball was divine. Everything about the ball was divine. The decorations, the lights, the orchestra… Thank goodness Penelope had made her take dance lessons. She never knew people danced all night. Her feet were complaining this morning. She stepped to the dresser to get a jar of salve. Not only was it good for her skin, but it would sooth away the ache.

After Aaron's shock, he played the gentleman doting on his wife. All it took was a tilt of Penelope's head, and Aaron jumped to do her bidding. He'd introduced Rebekah as his wife.

His wife.

Without a grimace, too. It seemed strange and took some getting used to. As long as she smiled and nodded her head, she realized she gave the impression she fit right in. And she had fun doing it. After she got over her nervousness of catching her husband off guard.

Aaron had been angry, no doubt about that. She had noticed the signs when they argued about the contract. He had tried to leave the ball straightaway, but Penelope put a stop to that right quick. Then she bragged about her nephew being married to such a lovely woman. Rebekah could almost believe the charade.

But it was a sham. A faux marriage. She had tried pushing that depressing tidbit out of her mind. Eventually, she relaxed and enjoyed herself.

Since she missed her own mother so very much, it was nice having Penelope hover over her.

Rebekah went through her morning routine, fiddled about the room a bit, and decided she'd wasted enough time. Surely someone would be up. Someone other than Aaron. She wasn't quite ready to meet him.

Looking in the mirror, she supposed she was presentable. She left her bedchamber, closing the door softly behind her, then headed for the stairs. At the landing, she met Penelope coming from the opposite stairway.

"Good morning, Rebekah."

"Is it still morning?" she asked.

"Yes. The clock struck eleven a few moments ago. Shall we go down to breakfast?"

Would Cook still be serving breakfast? Rebekah reminded herself they were in Town. The ton kept different hours than in the country. Penelope had told Rebekah how Cook spoiled Aaron. Most likely, she would prepare anything they wanted any time of the day.

"Will Aaron be joining us?" Rebekah asked as they descended the stairway.

"I'm sure he left the house hours ago."

Rebekah released a sigh of relief.

"Normally he is up and tending to business, or he might be with the horses at this hour."

When they entered the breakfast room, two place settings were on the long table. A maid greeted them.

"Is that beast tied up?"

"The Black is outside with Sasha, my lady."

"Good. We can eat in peace."

Rebekah wanted to believe Penelope spoke of Aaron, but Rebekah was beginning to believe she was the only one who thought of Aaron in that light.

"Penelope, may I ask what beast you are referring to?"

"Do you not know of Aaron's breed? Dogs, he calls them. Sasha is the female mother. She's had two litters, and recently a third. Aaron has found homes for the puppies, but kept The Black. That rascal started out as the most subdued of the litter. He's growing, and is becoming the size of a horse. Aaron loves the animals. I cannot believe he hasn't told you about the Malamutes."

"The night Nathaniel brought me to Aaron's house, I remember a large dog. He nearly knocked me over. He was black. Quite large, and frisky."

"That's the one. Aaron calls the dog The Black. He is still a puppy."

"A puppy? The dog that came at me was fully grown."

"Pshaw. That was The Black. He is barely half the size he will be. Have you seen Sasha? The Black will grow bigger than his mother."

"I cannot imagine." She followed Penelope to the sideboard.

"The servants serve our supper, but I know how independent you are. So, if you want, we can serve ourselves. Let's see what we have." Penelope lifted the first silver dome. "Ahh, ham. You do like ham, Rebekah, or would you prefer bacon?" She lifted the lid from another dish. "Yes, as I thought. Bacon."

The large cupboard held several silver domes in a long line. There must be fifteen food choices. By the time she sat down beside Penelope, Rebekah had a dab of almost everything on her China plate. She stared at the monstrosity of food. Good Lord. She would never be able to eat all of this. Ham, bacon, and sausage, eggs scrambled with cheese—yum. Sunny side up were in one of the platters, but she got the scrambled because of the cheese. There were potatoes, tomatoes, various fruit. She had picked up a branch of grapes for later. And melon. She loved honey dew melon. Since she wanted the fruit, she passed on the pancakes and syrup. There were even waffles. Who in the world was going to eat all this food?

"Eat, child. Or are you going to sit there and stare at your plate?"

"Oh." She lifted a fork. "This is a lot of food."

Penelope giggled. "It sure is. You must be hungry."

"Cook should not offer so many choices."

"Had trouble choosing? Perhaps your tastebuds wanted to try everything."

Rebekah shook her head. "I will pop out of my clothes in no time if I eat like this."

"Aaron will buy you more."

"Good heavens. I do not need more clothes."

"He can afford it, dear."

As though that explained why she needed more.

"Mama taught me not to waste." She glanced at the sideboard loaded with food.

Penelope noticed. "It won't go to waste dear. There are a lot of mouths to feed."

That's good.

"After breakfast, I will send a note to Madame Laselle. She is very discreet. She will be delighted to work on a new wardrobe for you."

"A new wardrobe. I haven't worn some of the gowns I have."

Penelope chewed her food, then replied, "You need party clothes for London. You cannot wear the same ball gown to another ball. It simply is not done. You are in Town now, dear. There will be events and parties every evening."

"Every evening?"

"Yes. Outdoor soirees. Balls. You will need your rest in the mornings."

Rebekah laid down her fork and wiped her lips with the napkin. "I'm not sure Aaron wants me here."

"It doesn't matter. You are here now, and here you will stay."

His angry image came to life in her mind. "He has no right to order me about."

Penelope placed her fork beside her plate, then spoke in a firm, clear voice. "He has every right, my dear girl. A husband has the right to treat his wife any way he wishes."

"I am not an object."

"But you are his property."

Rebekah's mouth flew open in shock.

"I'm sorry, dear. Among the aristocrats, the wife has very little say in anything."

"I shall get a divorce."

"Do not spout nonsense," Aunt said as she picked up her fork. "That's your pride talking. Aaron has pride too. Men and their damnable pride."

With Penelope's confidence and forte, there was no doubt in Rebekah's mind who was in charge. "What if he decides to send me back to the country house."

"You were presented to the ton last night. Aaron would not dare. If you were to disappear, he would have to face questions he cannot answer. I'm sure he has already had difficulty explaining his estranged wife."

Her chest tingled with excitement. She would be staying. She scooped a bite of pudding. Who had pudding for breakfast?

"Berthright told me invitations have been pouring in all morning. You are the toast of the ton."

Rebekah paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Me?"

"As soon as we finish, we'll go to the parlor and take a look at them."

"What sort of invitations?"

"Inviting you to soirees. Everyone who is anyone wants to be the first to show you off at their social event. It's a competition between the noble matrons. See who can out-do the other. One-up, so to speak."

Every night? Wow. She scooped another dollop of pudding, thinking she was bound to need the extra sugar for energy.

Aaron closed his book full of figures and sums. Adding should not be done when a man's mind was occupied elsewhere.

His wife.

Aunt was behind Rebekah's sudden appearance; he was sure of it.

Good God, when he'd seen her, his heart nearly stopped. Her beauty had stunned him, enveloped him. A dozen emotions swamped him all at once. Shock overpowered them all.

Rebekah was in Town, and the entire ton knew it.

There would be no question now whether he was married or not. Every noble at Haverson's ball had seen for themselves. The rumormongers would spread the word to anyone who'd been absent.

He had yet to have a tête-à-tête with his wife. Surely, she would be up by now.

Aaron rose and went in search of his bride. He found her with Aunt in the parlor.

"Good afternoon, ladies."

"Oh Aaron, good. We are going through these invitations. Apparently, they've been coming in non-stop all morning."

"Aunt, do you mind if I steal Rebekah away? My wife and I must have a long-awaited conversation."

"And whose fault is that?" Penelope snipped.

"Forgive me, Aunt, for being outspoken, but I should have been informed of my wife's surprising arrival."

"Since your leaving came as quite a surprise, I would think you would not complain."

"Are you saying this was recompence?"

"Not at all, Aaron. Rebekah was following your lead. After all, what does she know about this family—or our habits. She is learning by example."

"I stand duly noted, Aunt." Aaron turned to Rebekah and held out a hand. "Would you join me … Rebekah?" He almost said wife in a derogatory manner, but Aunt would have chastised him for that.

Rebekah stood, and he noticed her hands slightly shook. She did not take the hand he offered.

"Where are we going?"

"To the library, if you will."

"You will need to show me where it is."

Of course. He'd forgotten she would not know the way. He'd thought he found a means of escape from their dilemma without brewing scandlebroth. Her appearance at the ball last night had merely fueled the gossip.

He led her to the library and closed the set of doors behind them.

"Would you care for a sherry?"

She dipped her head. "Thank you."

He poured a small amount in a tiny wine glass, wondering how the devil women held the fragile things without snapping the stems. Then he poured a brandy for himself. He carried them over to the sofa and placed the glasses on the center table. Most likely, she wouldn't want him to see her hand shake as she accepted her glass.

"Well. I see you have gammoned me," he began. "By showing up in London, you've brought attention to us once again. I was completely gob-smacked. I suppose that was your intention. To catch me off guard?"

"I am not going back to Surrey."

"I see." He steepled his fingers as he thought about that. Then, he reached for his glass, needing the sustenance.

"You left me," she blurted. "What was I to do? Did you think I would not like to go to parties with my husband? Or are you ashamed of me?"

He'd been about to swallow a pull of brandy, and nearly coughed up a lung. Finally, he got his voice back. "That is utter balderdash. I have no reason to be ashamed, and neither do you."

"Then why did you leave me? At the altar, I might add."

Good God, he didn't know. He'd not thought things through completely. Other than he supposed she would be happier without him, since she didn't want a husband—and he sure as hell had not wanted a wife.

An image of sultry eyes in a fuzzy cloud looked back at him. It was useless to indulge in fantasies. He shook the image away.

Had he really told his wife he did not expect her to share his bed? He must be ready for bedlam.

"I beg your pardon, Rebekah. At the time it seemed the reasonable thing to do. Apparently, I am losing my mind along with my dignity."

Her shock turned to confusion. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I have bungled things badly." He would never know the woman in his dreams. He should be content with his wife.

"You are here now; you will stay here."

"I hadn't planned on going anywhere." Her pointed nose turned up in the air.

Did she not understand?

"In my home ," he pointed out.

"I am staying with Serena in their townhouse."

"Not anymore. You will stay here under my roof where you belong. And that is final."

Her brow arched. "Giving orders, Aaron? You gave up the right to take charge of my life when you left me in Surrey. I will not allow you to rule my every move."

The guilt he'd felt left in an instant, squashed by her ire.

"I am your husband," he said with force.

"I am not the one who forgot!"

Blasted female. He tossed back his drink and stood.

"That song is getting old, my dear. Since you are in London, you will behave according to the rules of etiquette. We will be in the same house, we must tolerate each other. Aunt will be here, so you will have a champion in your pocket. All I ask is that you consult me before you leave the house."

"You mean, ask permission?"

Good God, the woman was fierce with her accusations. If she was his wife in truth, he would fix all this poppycock by taking her to his bed.

Imagine waking with his tempting wife every morning. Then retiring each night with her long hair spread out like a halo over her pillow. Her lips swollen from their passionate kisses. Her eyes all stary and glorious from their lovemaking.

Good God. He shook himself. He was giving himself a growing erection.

Did he not just convince himself he would no longer indulge in fantasies?

He took a steadying breath and tried being reasonable.

"You are new to London. There are many dangers for a woman, that come in all forms."

She gave a faux laugh. "Be careful, Aaron. You sound very much like a protective husband. You wouldn't want to give the wrong impression."

She glared at him as if he had sprouted another head.

"You are my wife, and that is not going to change. We can stand here and shout at each other all night, or we can accept our circumstances."

He raked a hand through his hair. Damn and blast. She was beautiful in all her brusque fury. A strong woman. He liked strong women.

He walked to the hearth, setting his glass on the ledge. "I'm sorry your feelings were hurt."

"Climb down off that pedestal of self-importance, Aaron. You give yourself way too much credit. Your brothers' wives took it upon themselves to befriend me.

The sharp pain of rejection was lessened a little by the promise Rebekah had made to herself. She would learn everything there was to learn. And she would not give Aaron any reason to be ashamed. She'd been determined to show him. Show the ton. She made a vow to stand up for herself. Face the ton. And be more compelling with Aaron.

She had promised to be a good wife. Aaron did not love her, nor she him. But the hope had been there—maybe someday.

Hindsight was such a bothersome fiend. She'd brought this on herself. She should have stayed in Brighton, but her foolish pride demanded she seek retribution. She had set out to humiliate him, serve the arrogant man the same cold dish of rejection, only to be caught in her own snare. He'd married her. Turned her whole world upside down. Then he'd left. Couldn't get away from his bride fast enough. They didn't even have a wedding night. What did that say about her?

Humiliation.

She shot Aaron a killing, pain-filled glance. The hurt became her métier .

Would they forever be crossing swords?

He took a step forward. Her instant response was to draw back. He stopped.

He raked a hand through his long hair and mumbled something like, "Devil take it."

Her chest pounded. Not from fear, but from exasperating anger.

"Rebekah, I humbly apologize. It's true I did not take your feelings into consideration when I left Surrey. I had assumed that you preferred to be left alone. I thought the best way to do that was to give you time and space; therefore, I left."

She glanced about the library. "And came back to your normal way of life."

"I did give you a home. Servants. Aunt saw that you had a complete wardrobe."

"That excuses you?" She tilted her head to the side. "Did you think of me even once, Aaron?"

The arrow found its mark. His expression was sad with guilt.

"Did you think of your wife when you went to your fancy balls?" She stood, anger radiating in every bone of her body. "I mean, the whole point of our marriage was to avoid a scandal. Did the ton even know you had a wife?"

"Of course they knew," he shouted.

She narrowed her eyes as her anger rose. "Did anyone ask about your absent wife, or ask why she wasn't with you? I'm sure the widows didn't care—"

"Enough, Rebekah," he said on a harsh breath, looking defeated. "I am not a rake."

Enough?

Damn him for his condescension. "Is this the way it is to be then? War between us?"

"I hope not." He lifted a hand to touch her, then paused.

"I am willing to give this a chance if we can come to an understanding. Besides…" He gave her an emphatic grin. "You may find I am not the ogre you think me to be."

"Don't count on it."

"You don't really know me. I don't know you. How do you suggest we remedy that?"

"Huh." She crossed her arms over her chest. "A husband must spend time with his wife if he wants to know her."

"In other words, you living in Surrey and me in London is not working out."

She glared at him.

"No. I suppose distance is not the answer. There is only one way for us to spend time together. We must occupy the same house. That is why you will stay here, with me."

"I might fight you every step of the way." Her voice lacked the fervor of her words.

"Be my guest, wife." He gave her a lazy grin. "Mayhap you will win a battle, here and there. But you will never win the war."