Chapter 4
“Wherein a wedding, with vows, a ring, and everything… almost.”
22 nd October 1820.
Bea awoke, fully dressed, on a lumpy bed in a strange room. Groggy with exhaustion as sleep clung to her still, she struggled to a sitting position, momentarily bewildered. The memory of yesterday’s drama came back to her in a rush, and she gasped as her heart sped.
Good Lord! Had she really done it? Looking around the room, which was empty save for the bed she sat on, and a vast quantity of dust and cobwebs, it seemed so. She had run away from her uncle and made a deal with Lord Rutherford.
“Lud,” she said faintly. She got to her feet, went to the window and looked out, for there were no curtains to draw back. The countryside spread out before her in the autumn sunlight, the vista she had loved at first sight yesterday even lovelier when viewed from the house.
Her bedroom door opened, and Bea swung around, her heart thudding. To her relief, it was Rachel, carrying a basin and a jug of hot water. “Here we are, miss. I’ll be up with your breakfast as soon as that big lout comes back from the village. Supposing he does. I gave him some of the pin money you brought with you, like you said to last night, and a list of provisions. Though how we are to make this place habitable is beyond me,” she said, giving the room a despairing look.
Bea gave her a wan smile, trying to infuse her words with more confidence than she currently felt. “Once Lord Rutherford has the paperwork in place, we shall be married, and I shall have access to my money. Then we will make this place beautiful again, Rachel. I’ll hire staff enough to go through the work so fast it will make your head spin,” Bea replied, putting all her effort into sounding positive and excited about that, as much for her own sake as for Rachel’s.
“When will the devil be back, then?” Rachel asked sceptically.
“Tonight, I believe. He intends to bring a special licence and a vicar willing to perform the ceremony.”
“Oh, miss.” Rachel’s face crumpled, and she sat on the edge of the bed with such a thud that the frame creaked ominously.
“Rachel? What’s wrong?” Bea cried, hurrying to sit beside her, putting her arms about her shoulder.
“This is all wrong,” Rachel said, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand. “To see you reduced to throwing yourself away on that… that debauched villain, it’s so unfair.”
Bea smiled and leaned in, kissing Rachel’s cheek. “Don’t upset yourself, Rachel. It’s not what I hoped for, obviously, but if Lord Rutherford can get the thing done before my uncle finds out, then we shall be safe. I’ll have thwarted Uncle Charles, which is no small thing. That alone shall give me solace, and I truly am looking forward to making this place lovely.”
“And living here with that… that devil,” Rachel said in disgust.
“Oh, no,” Bea said blithely. “I’m sure once he has my money, he’ll be off back to town to indulge in all the wicked pursuits he loves so much. I doubt we’ll see much of each other once he’s got funds again.”
“That part of the agreement, was it?” Rachel asked, her expression hopeful.
Bea hesitated, a qualm of unease beginning at Rachel’s words. She had agreed a marriage in name only but made no stipulations about the amount of time they spent in each other’s company. “Why no, I just… well, why would he wish to stay here instead of returning to town?”
Rachel groaned and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Miss Bea. You little goose.”
Bea spent the rest of the day with her nerves all on edge. Every creak of the old house sounded to her like the tread of her uncle’s heavy footsteps, come to wrest her away from her safe- ish haven; every clatter of pans from the kitchen a knell of doom that had her running to the windows, certain she would see Mr Runcible approaching the front door with an army of footmen at his back.
By mid-afternoon she was beside herself and, despite Rachel having chased her away three times already, she returned to the kitchen, determined to help the woman with her work.
“It ain’t fitting,” Rachel insisted.
The poor woman had her sleeves rolled to her elbows and was red-faced and perspiring. She had pulled out every cupboard, washed or thrown the contents away and replaced them. The immense oak table had been scrubbed so hard Bea suspected it was an inch thinner that it had been that morning, and Rachel was currently polishing the vast range with a somewhat daunting ferocity.
“But Rachel, there is nothing to do. I cannot spend another hour jumping at shadows and staring out of the window. I shall run mad if you do not give me something to keep me occupied!” Bea protested. “Truly, I cannot—”
“Oh, very well,” Rachel said, setting down the pot of blacking and the rag she was holding. “That fellow brought the supplies we asked for and there’s a sack of potatoes in the larder there. You can peel some if you’re that set on making a spectacle of yourself, but just this once, mind.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” Bea said meekly, hurrying to the larder. She opened the door and stepped inside the cool, dark room, impressed by the change Rachel had wrought here too. It was not exactly full to bursting but there was food enough for a few weeks now, though the menu would be a good deal simpler than the fare Bea was used to. Finding the sack of potatoes, she took a bowl and filled it with what she thought would be a suitable amount and returned to sit at the kitchen table.
“Peelings in there,” Rachel said briskly, setting a bucket on the floor beside her. “That fellow has gone to buy a pig, and we can feed it all the kitchen scraps.”
“That fellow has a name, Rachel,” Bea said, hiding a smile as Rachel reluctantly handed her a paring knife, as though she was giving scissors into the hands of an infant. “He’s called John Smith.”
Rachel sniffed. “Hmph,” she said, and bustled back to the range.
Bea smiled and picked up the paring knife in one hand, a potato in the other. Biting her lip, she concentrated, never having wielded a knife before, or held a raw potato for that matter. The first strip she peeled off was far too thick. If she kept up like that, there would be no potato left. Frowning, she tried again, doing a little better with the second and third strip. The fourth was going quite well until the potato slipped from her grasp, fell to the floor and rolled across the kitchen to where Rachel knelt.
Rachel regarded the potato and sighed. “P’raps I can find you something else to do.”
“No,” Bea said stubbornly as she got up and retrieved the potato. “I will master this, see if I don’t.”
Rolling her eyes, Rachel returned to the range.
An hour later it was gleaming, and Rachel had lit it again. A golden glow suffused the kitchen as the fire took hold and warmth filled the room. The flicker of the lamps made it feel almost cosy, and Bea’s nerves settled enough for her to finish the potatoes, shuck a panful of peas and begin on the carrots. It was not a neat job, she admitted, peering again at the oddly shaped lumps of potato in the saucepan, but it was one less Rachel had to do. The carrots were somewhat easier, and she was feeling something approaching satisfaction with her work when the kitchen door swung open.
“What the devil is going on here?”
Bea yelped in surprise at the indignant masculine voice, the knife slipping in her wet hands. It slid sideways, slicing into her left thumb and making her give a little cry of protest.
“Damnation!” The curse made her look up and, before she had time to react, Lord Rutherford hauled her from the bench she sat on and took hold of her hand. He inspected the cut, which was mercifully shallow, and muttered an oath, tugging her over to the water pump. He washed the cut thoroughly before producing a large white handkerchief and wrapping it tightly about the wound. “It’s clean,” he said tersely, noting her look of disgust. “I just bought it this morning.”
At his words, Bea took a moment to look him over, noting he was immaculately turned out. Well, he had been busy spending her money.
“Why is my betrothed in the kitchen, toiling like a drudge?” he demanded coldly.
Bea looked up at him, surprised by his annoyance. “What do you care?”
“I’m the Earl of Rutherford,” he replied, sounding every bit as arrogant as his title might suggest, his irritation perfectly audible. “Whilst that title might be soiled and tarnished beyond saving, I am not yet sunk so low as to expect my wife to peel potatoes. You’re an heiress, for the love of God, what are you playing at?”
“Oh, well, it’s all right for you, off in town and spending money that isn’t yours yet,” Bea shot back, rather irritated herself now. “I’ve been here twiddling my thumbs and expecting my uncle to come and carry me off at every moment. I needed to do something!”
His expression relaxed somewhat, and he gave a grunt that seemed to express understanding. “Well, I shall keep you busy enough now, my sweet. There are papers for you to sign, and the vicar is here. We’d best avail ourselves of his services as fast as we can, for the poor fellow is quaking in his boots at having been brought to a place of such depravity and sin. Really, he’s not got an ounce of the gumption you have, my girl.”
Though it was ridiculous, Bea felt a surge of pride at his words. She scolded herself soundly for allowing the man to charm her even a little. The vicar was likely far more sensible than she. Still, Bea allowed her betrothed to bear her off to a room which purported to be his study. The shelves were all but empty and, as Lord Rutherford entered, the lamps he carried illuminated a mouse chewing contentedly on the corner of a large leather-bound ledger.
It fled as they entered, diving into a hole in the wainscotting. Lord Rutherford either did not see or did not deign to remark on the rodent. He reached into his pocket to withdraw a fat parcel of documents and handed them to her, then drew out the chair before the desk and gestured politely for her to take a seat.
“The first is a letter from your Mr Thornton. I had quite a job assuring him I was in earnest, and it was a lucky thing you had already written to him with the details of your predicament, or he would have chased me off like a mongrel dog. I believe he certainly has your interests at heart and was saddened to hear the trials you have endured. However, he seems to think you have made a deal with the devil himself,” he added with a mocking smile.
“Have I not?” Bea asked, uncertain if she was jesting or in earnest. So far, he had behaved far better than she had expected of him, having made no move to seduce or importune her, but he did not have her money yet.
He gave a laugh that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was a bitter sound and not the least reassuring. “I’m afraid you will have to figure that out for yourself, pet.”
“I’m not your pet,” she replied, unsettled.
“As you wish, sweet.”
Bea scowled at him but forbore to tell him again that she was far from sweet. He could figure that out for himself. She took up the letter from Mr Thornton, but Rutherford spoke again.
“There is one thing, Miss Huntingdon.”
“Yes?” She looked up at him and rather wished she had not. A prickle of awareness shivered down her spine as she gazed into his summer-dark eyes. His presence seemed to consume the room, sucking up all the air and shrinking the space around her. Bea’s gaze slid down the firm line of his jaw, noting the neatly tied cravat at his throat, and travelled on to his broad shoulders, lovingly encased in dark blue superfine. He did not look like a gentleman, despite the fine attire. He looked like a pirate wearing a gentleman’s garb, and the air he had of something dangerous and only half tame made her heart thud wildly in her chest.
He reached for her hand, and she almost snatched it away as his strong fingers curled around hers. Once again, that electric jolt snapped down her arm, stealing her breath. Rutherford frowned, and she thought she heard his breath catch too, but that was mere foolishness.
“I want you to know that, whilst you may have made a deal with the devil, I shall keep to our agreement, and you need never fear me. I may be many things, but I have never forced my attentions on a woman, lightskirt or lady,” his voice, pitched low, was intimate but entirely sincere.
“Th-That is reassuring,” she admitted, though her voice sounded rather strange to her own ears. To be the focus of his undivided attention was at once nerve-wracking and galvanising and she was not entirely sure how to feel about it.
“I ought to warn you, however, my lady wife, I shall make you demand a real marriage from me before this year is out, my word upon it.”
“Indeed, you shall not!” Bea said, snatching her hand away. “And I am not yet your wife.”
He grinned at her, a lazy, lopsided smile that she did not doubt had allowed him to get away with murder his entire life. Well, no longer. Not with her, at least. She might not be an experienced woman of the world, but she was not a fool, and getting entangled with this man, even if he was to be her husband, would be the height of lunacy. Bea was an intelligent woman and one who had proven to herself to be stronger than her slender frame might suggest. She would not be seduced by a pretty face into believing this man could bring her anything but trouble if she were to put her trust in him. A legal agreement written down in black and white was one thing, trusting him with anything else… out of the question.
“I’ll leave you to your papers, then, pet,” he said. “Don’t tarry too long, we have a wedding night to celebrate, and I should not want to chase down the vicar if he makes good his escape before you’re done.” Rutherford winked at her as he crossed the room, closing the door behind him.
“Arrogant, self-satisfied oaf,” she muttered. From the corner of the room came a shrill squeaking and Bea turned to see the mouse had returned and was chattering crossly. “Quite,” she said, assuming the creature was female and lamenting the male of the species.
Shaking her head, she told herself to get a grip before she lost her wits entirely and settled down to read the papers.
Justin stole one last glance at Miss Huntingdon as she bent her head to read. The words ‘arrogant’ and ‘oaf’ drifted to his ears as the door closed and he grinned. She really was splendid. Shaking his head, he wondered what on earth he’d done to deserve such good fortune at the eleventh hour. He was saved. The astonishing sum she brought to their marriage changed everything. Never again would he have to use his wits to gain enough money to eat and pay his bills. Never again would he be forced to pray, sweating through his shirt as a horse he’d put every last penny on galloped around a track. For the first time in his life, he could breathe easy.
One would think, after all his wickedness, that even if the good Lord saw fit to give a despicable sinner a second chance, he would wrap the gift up in a package that would make him suffer a little for his good fortune, but no. Not only was Beatrice as rich as Croesus, but she was a little beauty too. Slender and delicate, he felt certain he could span her waist with his hands, and longed to prove the point. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown with glints of gold that caught the light, and her eyes… her eyes, were either green or hazel, or some combination of the two. He was not yet certain, for they seemed to change depending on the light. Whichever it turned out to be, they were wide and lovely and at once innocent and full of spirit, a combination he found deliciously tempting.
He smiled to himself as he made his way back to the parlour, where a fire was blazing for once. Justin moved to stand before it, warming his hands.
“My lord?”
Justin turned, surprised to hear John addressing him so politely. “What happened to ‘Oi, you?’” he demanded, quirking one eyebrow.
John grinned at him and shrugged. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to start paying me, I’d best be a mite more respectful.”
“Stow it,” Justin replied amiably. “In company, I would appreciate you treating me with a modicum of respect, but in private nothing need change. You’ve been a good and loyal friend to me, John. I shan’t forget it.”
To his amusement, a tinge of colour touched John’s ruddy cheeks, and he shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “It were all true, then? Her tale of being an heiress? It weren’t no trick?”
Justin shook his head, finding John’s scepticism perfectly understandable. He’d spent the entire journey to town certain he was on a fool’s errand, only to discover the reality was even rosier than Beatrice had painted it.
“It was no trick, John. We are rolling in clover and will be for the rest of our days.”
“Bugger me,” John said in awed tones.
Justin snorted. “I know. I still can’t believe it. Who has such luck? It’s impossible, and yet she’s real, and my good fortune is wrapped in up in such a delightful parcel too.”
John’s face darkened, and he frowned at Justin’s words. “But it’s a marriage in name only, ain’t it? That’s what she said.”
“That’s what she said,” Justin admitted. “But I intend to charm her into wanting something entirely different. I never thought to marry, John, but I’m an earl after all. I need an heir. I had thought the title would die with me, but… but maybe this is a new beginning.”
John was still frowning.
“What?” Justin asked, irritated that the fellow was scowling so.
“She asked for a marriage in name only, and whilst if you intend to keep to your marriage vows, I’d be right happy to see you settled and content, if you think to take up the life you lived before… well, that ain’t kind nor proper to a woman whose given you so much, begging your pardon.”
“Christ, John, when did you become such a saint?” Justin said tersely. “In the first place, I have no intention of living how I did before, gambling till all hours in the hope of winning enough to see us through another month. There’s no need, for one thing. I’m no longer penniless. As for my romantic affairs, I’m tired of jumping from bed to bed. I’m no green boy and the allure of such excess has worn off. In the second, you may remember I’m not exactly welcome in polite society, though I hope in time I may fix that. My lady wife needs to move in proper circles without embarrassment, and that is currently not the case. However, I do not see the need for fidelity, nor can I imagine she would expect it of me. She’s no fool. I will be discreet, however, and do nothing to cause her any distress, but this is not a love match, John.”
“No, it ain’t, not yet, but you wish to charm her into making a real marriage. As you say, she’s no fool, and so the only way you’ll get that from her if is she trusts you completely, trusts you to be a proper husband to her. If you think she won’t know the minute you play her false, then you’re a bigger idiot than I reckoned on. I’ve seen enough women weeping over you and breaking their hearts, and I don’t want to see the lady tread in those same footsteps.” John’s voice was terse now, his heavy arms folded across his chest. “It ain’t right.”
Justin opened his mouth but a knock at the door forestalled any further discussion. The stern-faced maid, Rachel, opened the door. “Excuse me for the interruption, but the vicar is getting restless. I don’t think I can keep him in the kitchen much longer without tying him to a chair.”
“I’ll see if the lady is ready,” Justin said with a nod. “Miss…?”
“Miss Chandler, my lord.”
“Miss Chandler, if you would bring the vicar here. John will provide him with a glass of brandy to warm him whilst I fetch Miss Huntingdon. Won’t you, John?” Justin replied with a smile.
John grunted and moved to the sideboard, where a fresh bottle of brandy waited to be decanted.
Miss Chandler nodded and hurried from the room and Justin returned to his study to find Beatrice’s head still bent over the papers. She was signing her name. He let out a breath, only now realising how anxious he’d been that she might find reason to back out of their agreement.
“All was in order?” he asked as he walked towards the desk.
“It was, thank you, Lord Rutherford,” she replied, carefully blotting her signature before she gathered the papers together. “I have written a letter to Mr Thornton, asking him to transfer the funds between us at once. The sooner we can get this place in order, the better.”
“It does not seem fair that you spend your portion on the work to my estate,” Justin replied, inclined to be generous after everything this woman had given him. He leaned against the desk, looking down at her and admiring the elegant line of her neck as she put the pen and ink back in its proper place.
She shrugged. “It is a beautiful house. I fell in love with it the first time I laid eyes on it, and I wish to see it brought back to its former glory. I also have no desire to live like this for long,” she added frankly, gesturing to their dismal surroundings.
He laughed at that and nodded, a surge of pleasure taking him by surprised at discovering his home, shabby as it was, had pleased her. “A fair point, but as we have dealt together so fairly, how about this? I shall cover the cost of all repairs to the land, gardens, and structure of the buildings, roofs and walls and windows, et cetera. You will cover the cost of the interior refurbishments and furniture, for you may have noticed there is barely a chair or bed in the entire place. It will be quite a costly exercise to replace it all, if you are thinking I am being excessively noble.”
“I did not think it,” she said, studying him candidly as she sat back in the chair. “But that seems an eminently sensible proposal. However, will you not find it a trial to organise such work from town? I would be more than happy to oversee the work and simply send you the bills.”
Justin stared at her, frowning. “From town? What do you mean? I have no intention of returning to town.”
“Whyever not?” she asked, looking so dismayed he felt a stab of annoyance.
“For one thing, I am not yet entirely recovered from getting shot,” he replied, finding his voice sharper than he’d intended it to be. “For another, I am not welcome in society which would make it a very dull sojourn, and besides all that, I live here!”
He pushed away from the desk, raking a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that he ought not to stand whilst she was sitting. She knew he was a mannerless devil, after all.
“Well, there is no need to fly up into the boughs, my lord,” she said, sounding calm, but as he turned to glare at her, he found her green eyes flashing sparks at him. “I only supposed you would want to continue your life of debauchery now you have the funds to do so.”
“Perhaps I shall, but for the moment, I wish to remain here and see my house put back together.” Justin stared at her, wondering why he felt so… so… what was this feeling? He could not be hurt by her words, by her assumption that he would wed her and carry on as though nothing had changed. He’d told John he had no intention of being faithful just moments ago, but that was hardly the same as returning to the life he’d led before. No, that couldn’t be it, because that would be preposterous. Yet the odd sensation lingered, making him irritable and out of sorts.
“I see,” she said, her dark eyebrows tugging together in a frown.
She rose to her feet and moved to stand before the fire, gazing down at it. He said nothing, aware she was thinking. When she turned, he braced himself, certain he would not like what she said next, and he then wondered why. She was just a little chit of a thing, a young woman with no more experience of the world than a mouse. Why on earth would he trouble himself to worry about what she might say to him? Let her rant and rave if she wished, it was nothing to him.
When she spoke, however, she was entirely calm and composed. “I believe I must make something clear, my lord,” she said placidly, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. “We have agreed a marriage in name only, and that is what I wish for. When you told me I might make Chalfont my home, I assumed you meant to allow me to live here alone. I see now that I was wrong, and that perhaps the assumption was unfair. As you stated, this is, after all, your home. That being the case, I believe we must make some rules between us, for I do not wish to spend time in your company. I do not wish to play make-believe that we are anything but what we are. You are a man with worldly tastes I can never understand, nor approve of, and I am certain you consider me a dull little mouse who is of little interest. So, I would like your agreement that we share this house, but not our lives. Perhaps we should divide the property into two, with you taking one side, and I the other.”
Justin gaped at her, stunned into silence. How dare she? How dare she think just because they were making this devil’s bargain that she could have everything her own way?
“No.”
She blinked, colour rising to her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said no,” he replied coolly.
“I see.” She was angry. Though she was outwardly still composed, he could see it in the hectic splotches of colour that stained her neck. “Why not?”
“Because I do not wish to divide up my house and live as strangers. If you are to be my wife, to take my name, then I think it is only right that we know something about each other, that… that we are friends.” The words were out before he really thought about what he was saying, before he had the chance to wonder why the devil he wanted that at all. He didn’t have friends, and the idea of his wife being one seemed ludicrous. All the same, he refused to take the words back.
“Friends?” She practically spat the word back at him. Her green, no, hazel eyes were narrowed with annoyance, her cheeks flushed, and he bit back a smile. His betrothed was particularly alluring when she looked like she wished to skewer him with the fireside poker.
“Yes,” he replied, more determined now than ever as he studied this curious creature with interest. “Friends. Is that such an outrageous thing for a husband to ask of his wife?”
“We are not yet wed,” she ground out.
“No,” he replied, excessively patient now, for he suspected if she felt she was being patronised she’d get angrier still, and the devil in him could not resist playing with fire. “But we shall be any minute now, won’t we, my sweet?”
“That depends,” she replied darkly. “On whether I change my mind.”
“Ah, but that would be such a shame when we have all the papers signed, the special licence, the vicar… a ring.”
The word seemed to take the wind from her sails, and she stilled, regarding him suspiciously. “A ring?”
He laughed at that. “Of course, a ring. You think I would wed you and not put a ring on your finger? When I finally have funds enough, I shall buy you a proper wedding gift too. Do you prefer diamonds or emeralds?”
“I want no trinkets and gewgaws from you,” she retorted crossly, and he suspected she was more annoyed at having been distracted than anything else.
“I hardly think diamonds can be considered trinkets, but it is of no matter. I shall choose if you will not. I think emeralds, to bring out the green in your eyes. They are green, are they not?” he asked, curious despite himself.
She waved this away. “Never mind my eyes. This is precisely what I mean. I do not want you coming around and trying to make love to me. I have no intention of letting you into my life, certainly not into my bed, and the sooner we establish that fact, the better.”
“But what of the family you dreamed of? Do you not wish for a babe to hold in your arms?”
“There are children enough in the world in need of love already,” she replied coolly. “If I feel the lack of them, I shall fund an orphanage or a school, or perhaps I shall adopt.”
Justin scowled at her, frustrated himself now by her determination to thwart him. “You may do all of those things, but I doubt they will stop you wanting a child of your own, one of your own flesh and blood, and I need an heir.”
She snorted, such an unladylike gesture that Justin stared at her. What an odd creature she was. Quite unlike any lady he had ever come across before.
“You mentioned no heir when we first made our bargain, my lord. It is a little late in the day to change the terms of our agreement.”
“Why? You’re doing it, are you not?” he demanded.
She put up her chin, wrapping her arms about her waist. “I am not. I am simply clarifying the details that were not spelled out clearly enough before.”
“As am I,” he replied, folding his arms.
Her jaw set as she gazed at him. “Very well,” she said, impatient now. “Give me your terms.”
Justin thought rapidly, trying to come up with something he could work with, that would be reasonable enough she would have a hard time rejecting it out of hand. “I will not divide my house in two, but I agree to stay out of your way during the day, as far as I am able. I will not avoid you in a corridor if we are passing, for I refuse to hide in my own house. However, if you are in a room alone, I will not seek you out if you do not wish for my company. However, I demand that we take our meals together.”
“No. Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head so fiercely her dark curls bounced, and one slid from its mooring.
The thick lock fell, curving around her neck and sliding down, settling upon her breasts, where the shadowy valley between invited a questing tongue or finger. Justin’s attention drifted, imagining how silky her hair would feel wrapped around his fingers, or tickling his bare skin. He shook himself and dragged his unwilling gaze away, forcing his mind back to the conversation.
“It is not an unreasonable demand.”
“It is when I wish not to see you at all,” she shot back.
“What is it you’re afraid of, exactly?” he asked, moving closer, watching her intently.
She stiffened as he grew near, and he paused. He wanted to press her, to force her hand a little, but he did not wish to frighten her. In truth, he enjoyed her defiance, the way she was unafraid to cross swords with him. He only wished she did not hold him in such contempt. Not that he blamed her for it, but for the first time in his life he wanted to prove to someone that he was more than a pleasure-loving libertine, that he was… all right, not a good man, but not a devil either. It was a strange and intriguing sensation, and he was not ready to give up on it before it had even begun.
“Are you worried you might fall in love with me?” he teased.
Colour flooded her cheeks, and she gasped in shock. Justin stared at her. Had he hit a nerve, or was she simply so disgusted by the idea that it had provoked such a reaction? Whilst his instincts told him it was the former, it seemed so very unlikely that he could not help but think it was wishful thinking. Disgust seemed far more probable.
“Don’t be utterly ridiculous,” she said but, defensive as it was, her voice was breathless,
Justin considered. If there was the slightest possibility this intriguing creature might really be a wife to him, in all the ways nature and God intended, then he was going to take it. Why it was suddenly so important to him, he did not consider. He had never thought too deeply about his actions. If he wanted something, he went after it. That was all.
“Well, then, I do not see the problem. If you are in no danger of falling for my charms, there is no harm in sharing your meals with me. However, I am not an unreasonable man. I will ask only that we breakfast and share an evening meal together.”
She shook her head again, and Justin bit back an exclamation of frustration. “I am an early riser,” she said, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “If you rise early enough, I consent to breaking my fast with you. However, I will dine with you only once a week.”
“Five times,” he countered.
“Certainly not.”
“Three times,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Three times a week, and we shall at least be civil to each other. I should like to be your friend, Beatrice, if nothing else. But I shall not force the issue.”
She looked at his outstretched hand, and Justin held his breath. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his and once again he felt that strange tingle of connection thrill through him.
“A deal,” she said, resigned rather than content, judging by the irritable tone of her voice.
“A deal,” he agreed, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. He told himself severely that he ought not be congratulating himself so hard for having won the ability to get up at some hellish hour of the morning to share breakfast with a woman who despised him on principle, but he was an idiot and so he could not keep the grin from his face.
“Stop that,” she said, shaking her head.
“Stop what?” he asked, all innocence.
“Grinning and looking like a schoolboy given the afternoon off lessons. I’m not a fool and I do not fall for such tricks,” she told him sternly.
“Yes, Miss Huntingdon,” he replied, all mock sincerity.
His lady sighed heavily. “I dread to think how deeply I shall regret this day’s work,” she muttered, gathering up the papers on the desk and heading for the door.
“Now, now, sweet. Let’s not quarrel on our special day,” he crooned, hastening to open the door for her.
Beatrice sent him a volcanic look that only made him grin harder as she stalked out into the corridor.
He led her back to the parlour, where the increasingly agitated vicar was waiting for them. The poor man performed the ceremony with such haste he stumbled over the words and practically bounced with impatience when Justin took the time to push the ring onto Beatrice’s finger.
The oddest sensation hit him as he pressed the gold band over her knuckle, sliding it home. That band marked her as his wife, as the woman he was bound to, who was bound to him for all eternity. A new feeling stole over him, one that made him at once restless and oddly peaceful. He belonged somewhere, to someone, and even if that someone did not want him, despised him even, she could not deny that she had chosen him.
Of course, she would have chosen any other man on the planet over him had one been available, but fate had smiled on him for once, and he was the one she had bound herself to. He was her husband, and he had the strangest feeling that this was something he might make a success of, that he might even wish to make a success of, if only she would let him.