Chapter 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

T hankfully, the next several hours of travel were occupied with them playing cards or sitting in silence—a much preferable way to enjoy Beckett's company than how she had woken up with him hours before.

Not that she hadn't enjoyed the pleasure he'd given her, but it was utterly inappropriate, not to mention high-handed of him.

The man had no shame.

Now, as the carriage rolled through the streets of Gretna, all she could think about was consummating the marriage. Would she enjoy being with him, as a wife is required to be with her husband?

Would it hurt terribly?

Why had she not asked her mama more particulars? A shame none of her friends were married. They would have certainly informed her.

Oh, how they would be curious about what's happened to her. There was little doubt the missive the Beckett sent to London from the inn they stayed at yesterday would have arrived by now.

If they had not already sent out people to find her, her family would know her plans and what she was going to do. They would not be far away, a day at most. But it still gave them time to marry and consummate the marriage, joining them forever, and not even her parents' disappointment or Mr. Venzellons's actions could change her fate.

So long as their marriage stopped Mr. Venzellons from ruining her completely, she was confident that the ton would forgive her for running to Gretna to marry.

She was a duke's daughter, after all, and would become a countess after today.

Socially, they would be wise not to cut her.

"Ready, Lady Genevieve?"

Beckett held out his hand for her to take. He stood beside the carriage in front of a blacksmith's workshop. She nodded, clasped his hand, and prepared to marry a man she once adored and now despised.

She frowned, uncertain despised was the right word now…

They went inside, and a woman of middle age greeted them, taking payment from Beckett before they were led farther into the building.

It was only a few minutes, and they stood before the anvil, repeating the vows from the anvil priest, Joseph Paisley, that would tie them together forever.

"I do," she heard Beckett say, his attention on the blacksmith and listening intently to what the man was asking them to repeat.

She glanced around the dirty space. A forge burned bright at the end of the room, warming the space; tools she recognized, a hammer and a punch, sat on a wooden bench, and the air smelled distinctly of horses and smoke.

Her mama would have an apoplexy had she seen where her only daughter had married.

At least she could spare her that ordeal.

The grand wedding the duchess had always wanted Genevieve to have in St George's church would never be now. But in truth, did it matter where one became a wife, so long as they did so legally?

Surely, that was most important.

Although she would have liked to wear a prettier gown than the one she had on, wrinkled and soiled from two days of travel. However, one had to make the most of any situation.

She didn't dare look in a mirror to see her hair's disarray.

"I do," she repeated before the blacksmith pronounced them husband and wife.

And now she was Beckett's wife. Countess Tyndall.

She had hoped it would feel a little more exciting than it did, but all that plagued her was trepidation. Now, he would bed her.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. He'd been so wild and demanding in the bed yesterday morning. Had thrust against her sex and set her body into a kaleidoscope of pleasure that was different to her private releases.

It had been stronger, more exhilarating, and the sight of Beckett, his eyes wild with need and determination, even now set her heart to race.

"Kiss your beautiful bride, my lord."

Beckett turned to her and smiled before bending and kissing her cheek quickly.

"Thank you, Mr. Paisley, for your services. We're very appreciative."

"You're welcome, and congratulations. May your life be happy and fulfilled."

He led her out into the drizzly rain that had settled over Gretna. The weather so changeable in Scotland.

"We're to travel to Gretna Hall. We can stable the horses there," Tyndall said to his driver. "We'll stay there for the night and return to London tomorrow."

"Right you are, my lord." The driver tipped his hat, and they climbed into the carriage. Soon, the vehicle lurched forward, and they were on their way.

"Is the accommodation far?" she asked, taking in the small village passing them by.

"It's just up the road." Beckett adjusted his cravat and kept his attention outside the window. As he said, their journey to the hall took minutes only, and soon, they rolled to a stop before a large, white-washed stone building.

Several horses were tied up out front, and two carriages were parked in its courtyard, loaded with luggage. Checking in to their accommodation was simple. Tyndall took care of the particulars of their room, and while doing so, Genevieve glanced into the taproom, where several men and two ladies sat enjoying a light repast.

Had they, too, just married? Or were they yet to say their vows over the anvil?

Her stomach rumbled, and she realized it had been some hours since dinner the night before. They had traveled all night to make Gretna first thing, and she was in dire need of sustenance.

About to ask for food, she heard her new husband order meals, a hip bath, and a fire to be stoked, along with two ladies' gowns for his wife and laundered shifts for her undergarments.

The idea of bathing and dressing in clean clothes sounded heavenly, and if she had not wanted to kiss Tyndall before, she certainly did now.

They were escorted upstairs, and the inn was quite substantial in size and immaculately clean.

The profits from all those who ran away to marry must be substantial indeed.

The room was one of the largest she'd ever been in at an inn, not that she frequented such places often. It housed a large, wooden bed with an abundance of rich green bedding. There was a little table for two to eat their meals, prettily situated near a set of windows that had a view out onto the town.

Genevieve went to the window and noted another couple entering the blacksmiths they'd just departed. She smiled, seeing how happy they were to be marrying each other. She hoped their enthusiasm never ceased.

A maid lit the fire and several lamps before other servants started delivering food, wine, the hip bath, buckets of steaming water, soap, and fresh towels. Before they were finished, two gowns, several years out of fashion were hung in the wardrobe and fresh undergarments were set on the bed.

"Thank you." Tyndall followed the servants to the door, closed and locked it, leaving them alone.

"Behind the privacy screen, there is a little stove that will keep the bath water warm while you bathe. Would you prefer to freshen up first or eat whatever you wish?"

"I shall wash first. I do not feel myself at present."

She approached him and turned, giving him her back. "Could you untie my necklace, my lord? I cannot reach due to the strictures of my gown."

His fingers pressed against her back, and a shiver stole down her spine. His breath teased the hair at the nape of her neck, and she closed her eyes, imagining his clever hands on her in only a few hours.

Would he take her to bed in the afternoon while the day was still present? Or wait until it was dark and seduce her then?

A small smile twisted her lips, and she had to admit she was looking forward to being a woman and a wife. It was undoubtedly past time that she married, and Tyndall wasn't all bad.

For all his annoying qualities and inability to keep his mouth closed when they were young regarding her hair, he was handsome—well-endowed financially and physically if she were to think so boldly.

He would do well enough.

But would he change for her? Would he be faithful? She did not think he would. He married her out of loyalty to her brother and love for her family, not herself.

He would not want to give up on his wicked lifestyle. The necklace dropped into her hand, and she moved behind the screen, discarding her dress and hoping never to see it again, at least not until it was laundered.

She untied her corsets, thankfully fastened at the front, and slipped her shift off before lowering herself into the steaming water. Picking up the lavender soap, she bathed and washed every part of her body, wanting to remove days of travel.

Admit it, Genevieve, you want to be clean for him.

She would not deny that, either. He, too, would bathe, and maybe their evening would not be so imperfect. At least they would smell nice while doing the marriage act.

Heat kissed her cheeks, and she dipped under the water, wanting to wash her hair. Coming back up, she ran the soap through her hair, scrubbing and washing her scalp.

The soap ran into her eyes, and she dipped it into the water to try to wash it out, but she only spread more soap everywhere.

"Beckett, help," she managed to call. "Can you pass me a cloth? I have soap in my eyes and cannot open them."

She heard his sharp intake of breath before he clasped her hands, giving her a small cloth.

She wiped her eyes and managed to open them enough to see Beckett standing beside the tub, watching her.

The desire that emanated from him sent a flutter of heat to pool at her core. She pretended not to notice and dipped under the water to wash her hair out thoroughly.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" his low, gravelly voice asked.

She wiped her face again with the cloth, glad her hair was rinsed and her eyes were no longer stinging. "Doing what?" she asked innocently.

He kneeled beside the bath, reaching out to trace one of her nipples with his finger. She did not bat his hand away. What was the point? He was her husband now. She was his as much as he was hers.

"You're playing with fire, Countess."

It was the first time he'd called her by her new title, and she liked it. She leaned on the edge of the bath and blinked slowly. "It's a good thing I do not like to be cold, then, my lord."