Page 20 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Yes, my lord?”

Her voice was soft, but sure. No trace of nerves. How the devil did she do it? He—once one of society’s most notorious rakes—was so nervous his palms were sweating, and she, innocent little miss that she was, remained cool as a bloody cucumber.

“I beg your pardon,” he said tightly. “I had no idea that Humboldt had arranged things this way, and—”

“I arranged it this way,” she said.

Wrexham felt a little winded by that and it took him a moment to realise he was standing with his mouth open. He closed it.

“You arranged it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why?”

“Well, we just travelled all the way to Gretna Green in some haste to marry. I felt it would seem a little odd if we did not share a bedroom and, besides which, you did not allow me to finish our conversation. I will do so now.”

No. No, no. Not that. He could not bear it. Not now, when he was so exhausted. In the morning, he might muster enough self-control to mask his feelings. Right at this moment, he thought that beyond him. He shook his head to deny her, but the obstinate woman kept talking.

“Wrexham, you will hear me,” she said, and he detected a tremor in her voice. She was not as calm as he’d first thought. “We must consummate this marriage. If we do not, your father will do everything in his power to have it annulled. You will be vulnerable again, and I will be ruined.”

For a moment, he could do nothing but stand there, the words ringing in his ears. Consummate the marriage. Of course, she was correct, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known it was a risk not to do so, but he’d assumed his previous reputation and the circumstances might be enough to….

Consummate the marriage.

Wrexham swallowed. His heart was beating in his ears.

“You….” His voice sounded odd to his own ears, thick and hoarse. He cleared his throat. “You would be willing to—”

His mind blanked at a way of ending that sentence, so he just left it hanging there.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, Wrexham, I would be willing.”

“Ah.”

“Unless…?”

“No! I mean… yes. Yes, I am willing—and able,” he added hastily, and then felt like a twit because there was no reason she ought to think otherwise. Was there? Perhaps she had assumed…. He rubbed a hand over his face, which felt suddenly and inexplicably hot. Good God. Blushing like a virgin bride. Whatever next?

“Oh.” She let out a sigh that sounded remarkably relieved. “Good. That’s… good.”

“It is?” Wrexham asked, stunned. For surely, she had wanted reassurance he wouldn’t touch her just moments earlier and now.

“Yes,” she replied, sounding serene and rather pleased. “Yes, it is.”

Rex digested that, thoroughly confused but suddenly hopeful. She wanted to consummate the marriage. That would be wonderful if only he wasn’t so bloody tired.

“Though,” she began, sounding anxious. His hopes plummeted to his boots. He ought to have known better. “I confess, I’m so weary, if… if we could only wait until the morning….”

“Oh, thank God,” he said with feeling. “Yes, certainly we can.”

“Oh, good,” she said, sounding positively cheerful. “I should love to have a bath, but I think the innkeeper might throw us into the street if I suggested such a thing now. He was rather a surly fellow.”

“Was he?” Rex asked with interest.

“Yes, and he was wearing the most revolting paisley dressing gown. It was the ghastliest shade of yellow. I was dying to describe it to you, for I knew you would be horrified.”

“Yellow paisley?” he said, his lip curling with distaste. “Saints preserve us.”