Chapter Five

I t was a shockingly brief and perfunctory service. There was no celebratory breakfast awaiting them when they returned to Rosehaven. In truth, hardly a word was spoken in the carriage on the way home.

Douglas spared a glance at Miss Jones—Mrs. Louisa Blackwell, he corrected—and noted the tension that had settled over her pretty features. He wanted to dispel it, to offer some assurance that they hadn't just made a terrible mistake. But how could he? For him, it had been the right choice. The only choice. But for her, she'd given up any hope of having a family of her own. The twinge of guilt that thought created within him was decidedly uncomfortable.

Of course, stealing glances at her had other unfortunate effects. She was alluring. In a way that was completely effortless, she commanded his attention. How many times during the previous day had he halted what he was doing when thoughts of her and their situation intruded? Countless, he admitted. Proximity only made his growing obsession with her more evident. It also underscored his decision to keep their relationship as brief as his uncle's will would allow. He could not afford to indulge his preoccupation with her. She could not afford for him to do so. One year, and he would watch her walk out of his life forever. If he'd endured the hell of various wars for nearly a decade, surely he could achieve that.

Douglas hadn't told her the entire truth. Certainly, he did like an orderly life, and emotional upheaval was something he had worked very hard to avoid. But he hadn't told her why. He hadn't dared to disclose to her the terrible fate that so many women met when they had the misfortune to become entangled with a Blackwell man. Jealous. Possessive. Irrational. Whether it was love or something much darker, Blackwell men could not be trusted when it came to the safety of the women in their lives.

When the carriage finally drew to a stop, he breathed a sigh of relief. He needed distance between them—a reprieve from his own thoughts. But luck was not on his side. The moment he stepped down from the carriage, he heard the sound of hoofbeats. A lone rider was coming up the drive.

It was all Douglas could do not to curse bitterly. As if, he thought, there weren't enough complications in his life already, his cousin had arrived.

"Ho, Douglas! Felicitations," Terrence Blackwell called out as he halted his horse. With one graceful motion, he dismounted, his booted feet crunching on the gravel. "I've arrived just in time to celebrate your nuptials."

The words rang hollowly, no doubt as they'd been intended to. His marriage to Louisa meant that Terrence was no longer the contingent heir. Had Douglas failed to meet his late uncle's conditions in the time allotted, the family fortune would have been Terrence's for the taking, so long as he managed to get himself married. It could not be coincidence that he had showed up now.

"Terrence," Douglas acknowledged. "I wasn't aware you'd planned to visit."

His cousin's answering smile did not reach his eyes. His gaze remained cold and sharp. "I wasn't aware that I had to inform you, cousin. It is the family home, after all. You are merely its caretaker for this generation. Isn't that how Uncle James stated it in his will?"

It was, and now he was trapped by his uncle's last wishes. "Of course, Terrence. We will have the servants ready your usual room."

"And in the meantime, you may introduce me to your charming bride."

Douglas gritted his teeth. "Of course." Turning back to the carriage, he caught the worried gaze of his bride. She stared at him with concern. As if she knew something was amiss. Forcing himself to offer a reassuring smile, he offered her his hand and helped her alight from the vehicle. "Louisa, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Terrence Blackwell. Terrence, my wife, Louisa."

Terrence stepped forward, taking her hand and bowing low over it before pressing a kiss to it. "It is an honor to meet you, Cousin Louisa."

"Likewise, Mr. Blackwell," she murmured softly.

Douglas found himself watching her closely, gauging her reaction. Terrence was handsome and charming. He had no qualms about seducing married women. And he didn't seem overly concerned about the family curse and what it might do to any woman he entangled himself with. But Louisa seemed immune to his charm. She didn't blush or stammer in his presence. Instead she leveled an assessing stare at him and kept close to Douglas's side. He should not have been grateful for that, but he was. "Let us adjourn inside and enjoy some refreshment. I do believe a storm is coming in."

*

Louisa tried to contain her shudder. Terrence Blackwell was not a man to be trusted. Based on the tension she could feel emanating from her husband, he was well aware of the fact. What was the source of the enmity between them? Did it have something to do with the inheritance that had prompted their marriage? And, if so, did that mean Terrence also posed a threat to her? She had far more questions than answers, but it had been that way since her arrival at Rosehaven.

Ill at ease, she placed her hand on Douglas's arm and allowed him to lead her into the house. Douglas. Only the day before, he'd been Mr. Blackwell. The day before that, he'd been a complete stranger. Then Louisa realized she'd have to write to Effie. She would be expecting word, and if she didn't receive it, the Duchess of Clarenden would descend upon them in her very impressive fury.

The butler, with cool disapproval apparent in his tone, informed them that a meal of cold meats and cheese had been laid in the breakfast room for them. Miss Mary was awaiting them there.

"Did you stay in the village last night?" Douglas asked his cousin.

"No, I'm just down from London this morning. Left at first light and rode hard all the way," Terrence replied.

Lies. Louisa didn't even need her intuition to know that. His horse had been fresh and rested when he arrived. There was no way that horse had been ridden all the way from London just that morning. A glance at her husband, who was facing away from his cousin, showed that his jaw hardened considerably, tension and anger transforming his features. He knew. He knew that Terrence was lying. But what a thing to lie about. What purpose did it serve?

With her hand still on his arm, Louisa squeezed gently. He glanced over at her, but the look that passed between them was one of understanding.

"Terrence, what in heaven's name are you doing here?" Aunt Mary asked. "After the last time, I would have thought you too ashamed to show your face here. I certainly would have been."

Louisa glanced over her shoulder at Terrence. There was an almost imperceptible tightening of his features and a hardness in his gaze, but the cool smile never left his face.

"I've always had a quick temper, Aunt Mary," the man answered. "It was a shock, of course, to discover the terms of Uncle James's will and how I'd essentially been all but disinherited unless Douglas failed to do as he'd been told. But then, Douglas always does what he is told, doesn't he?"

There was no disguising the bitterness that infused his words. But then he continued, "Alas, I wouldn't be here if I could be in London. I've gotten into a bit of a bind with one of the gaming halls, scoundrel that I am. I'll not be able to show my face in London until the next annuity from the estate is deposited."

Not a lie, Louisa decided, but most definitely a half truth.

"Well, it is the family home, and to our eternal dismay, you are family," Aunt Mary conceded.

The animosity between everyone in that room was palpable. It was exhausting. "I find I'm not very hungry, but with the excitement of the day, I am a bit tired. I think I'll lie down for a bit."

"Let me show you to your new room," Douglas offered.

New room? She'd be moving into the master suite with her husband. While theirs wasn't to be a lasting marriage, it was to be a real one for the duration of the year.

"Thank you, I confess to still being a bit lost here," she replied with a smile that belied her nerves. Then they exited the room, leaving Mary and Terrence to verbally swipe at one another.