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“But we are trapped in an unwanted and ill-conceived betrothal. You’ve made no secret of your disdain for me. None of this is my fault, you know. You shouldn’t blame me.”
“I haven’t blamed you.” He smiled at her with unnatural cheer and affection, and led her around a bed of colorful blooms with the greatest seeming concern.
She felt her face might crack from the effort of smiling back at him. She couldn’t believe anyone would be fooled by their playacted sentiments. “If you hadn’t bedeviled me in the woods at your parents’ ball, we might have found a way to convince them how unsuited we are. They might have allowed us to marry others of our station.”
“Like your precious Lord Warren? It never would have happened. Anyway, if it matters to you, I’m much better in bed. His technique is impressive, but not quite up to my—”
“No, please.” She pressed her hands over her ears, knocking her bonnet askew. “I beg you, don’t speak of such things.”
“Why not?”
“Because. You know why.” He was impossible. He refused to converse with any modicum of decency or respect. “Can we not reference anything to do with your—your bedroom skills—and what shall happen on our wedding night? Can we not discuss it any more until the hour is at hand?”
He turned her to face him and set her bonnet to rights, biting his lip in concentration. She closed her eyes rather than stare at his mouth, then opened them with a start as he brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear.
“I wonder why you have such a negative regard for the act of sexual congress. It makes me wonder if you haven’t already been mounted by some brute who didn’t know what he was about.”
“I have never been m-mounted before,” she protested, flushing hot. “I am perfectly pure.”
“Are you? Then you’re too pure to realize that being perfectly pure is a very dull state indeed.” His fingertips lingered, heating the sensitive skin beneath her lobe. He gazed at her, his lips gently curved. “Do you like the way it feels when I touch your ear?”
She set her teeth and shook her head. “No, I don’t like it.”
“What if I stroked it instead, like this?”
His fingers moved again, not just touching this time, but caressing. She suppressed a shudder, knowing he watched. She could feel his dark eyes upon her even though she averted her gaze. The strange lilt in his voice, the rasp of his words, the slowness of his caress, the nearness of his body, all of it combined to affect her in some novel, disturbing way.
“I wish you would stop.”
“No, you wish I would continue,” he said. “Don’t tell lies.”
She blinked, confused and ashamed, because she did wish it. But she also wished for him to stop. “Please, you disturb me so,” she whispered.
“Do I?” His hand went still, left her and dropped to his side. “Then perhaps there’s hope for us after all.”
What do you mean by that? she wanted to ask. But another part of her didn’t want to know what he meant. He alarmed her for so many reasons, not least of which was his direct, assessing stare. “If you continue to look at me like that,” she said, “people will...believe things.”
“People already believe things, Aurelia. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Please return me to my friends. Your company exhausts me.”
“Then we shall have to build up your stamina.” His gaze raked her again, head to toe, in that coarse, appalling way.
She pursed her lips in irritation. She would not say one more word because he’d only turn it into something sordid. Fortunately, they were nearly back to her group of friends. The ladies watched them approach, bemused, whispering to one another. When Aurelia tried to wrest her hand from atop his arm, he held her fast by flattening his palm over her fingers. A subtle show of power, but it had its effect. He was telling her, quite stubbornly, that he was in charge.
Oh, how she wanted to challenge him, but all the haute ton were in attendance. Many of them were her father’s friends, and a great majority were hopeless gossips. She must be cheerful and play her part. She was only thankful for the layers of gloves and silk and linen that protected her from touching the man. When he delivered her to her table with a bow, she could barely bring a smile of farewell to her lips. She feared even her best effort came off as a grimace.
His smile though, was broad and jovial, his dark features relaxing into arrestingly handsome lines.
She would not find him attractive. She absolutely refused to.
But unfortunately, a little bit, she did.
Chapter Three: Lessons
Aurelia had always been dutiful. She had always been a very good child, the pride of her mama and papa, so no matter how much she wished to dig in her heels and refuse to walk down the aisle on her wedding day, she did not. She stood beside Lord Townsend at the altar and stammered out the vows that bound her to him for life.
Behind her and to the right, Lord Warren stood with Townsend’s other friends. She didn’t allow her gaze to drift to his handsome visage, but kept her attention fixed on her husband’s cravat, on the black pearl pin that secured its neat folds. She could not look him in the eyes or she’d run away screaming like a madwoman. She had never been allowed to make a fuss, and found herself incapable of doing it at the moment it mattered most.
Still, Lord Warren might have made a fuss on her behalf. He might have stormed the altar, scooped her up and carried her away and professed his true love for her. He might have if he understood how much she admired him, but she had only ever admired him from afar, and now it was too late.
After the ceremony, they proceeded to a wedding breakfast at Lord Townsend’s London residence, a great, echoing edifice of Italian marble, breathtaking in design and scale. Aurelia smiled until her face hurt, pretending to be delighted with her new husband and her new role as his marchioness. Lord Townsend presided over the gathering in a sleek, gold-embroidered coat, specially designed to match her ivory and gold wedding gown. The rich warmth of his garments did nothing to soften his cool demeanor. She felt unsettled each time he caught her gaze.
Trapped in this farce of a reception, she accepted the congratulations of countless family friends, including a somber Lord Warren and his impish sister Wilhelmina, whom everyone called Minette. After Minette chattered at her for several minutes about the thrill of attending the wedding, the handsome earl bent over Aurelia’s hand with a whisper of a kiss.
“I wish you a long and happy marriage,” he said.
She wanted to scream at him for failing her. She wanted to scream about everything this day, but she had never been allowed to scream so she didn’t know how. She was in every way a dutiful, well-mannered lady who did as she was told.
She felt like she was dying inside.
“Dearest Aurelia,” her mother said as she and papa prepared to take their leave. “How proud we are.” She squeezed her daughter’s hands. “Your father and I have dreamed of this day, when two great Oxfordshire families would be joined together.”
Aurelia tried to reply in some equally happy manner, because that would have been the dutiful thing to do, but she found it impossible. “I’m not certain he’ll be a good...a good husband,” she whispered.
“Oh, dear, what’s this?” Her mother patted her in an awkward way. “The marquess is a fine man. He comes from good stock.”
“Good stock? He’s not a cow, Mama.”
“Don’t be cross, dear. He’ll be a fine
husband as long as you are an obedient wife.”
Her father nodded and clasped her hands. “Your mother is right, Aurelia. Be a shining beacon of love and obedience, and your husband will follow suit.” He leaned closer. “We are counting on you to rescue this young man. If anyone can do it, you can.”
“But...Papa...”
Her father was already moving toward the doors. Her brother swept her into his arms, giving her a hard squeeze. “All will be well,” he said in her ear. “Because I’ll kill your husband if it isn’t, and Papa will give him hell.”
She tried not to cry, because Brendan’s gaze was telling her not to cry, but these empty, useless reassurances did nothing to calm her. She would be the one left alone with Lord Townsend once all the guests took their leave, and she wasn’t sure that being a “beacon of love and obedience” would accomplish anything at all.
“Will you v-visit me sometimes?” she stammered, turning to her sister-in-law Georgina.
“Of course. I’ll come calling as soon as you like.”
“Tomorrow?”
She stifled a smile. “Newlyweds don’t generally take callers for a couple of days. Perhaps next week? Brendan’s right, you know. Everything will be fine. You make a beautiful bride, and Townsend is...” She sobered. “Well. Be patient with him. I shall pray for your happiness every day.”
Her sister-in-law clasped her in a floral-scented hug, and then Brendan and Georgina joined the other guests on their way out. Her new husband bid the last of them farewell, then turned to her. Oh, for all his faults, for all the threat of him, he was rather handsome. Black hair, and piercing, intense brown eyes. Those beautiful eyes softened the effect of his sharply sculpted features. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the soaring marble foyer. His coat’s ornate embroidery caught her gaze, or perhaps she was too overcome to look up at him, now that they were alone.
“I suppose we’re married now,” she said in the echoing stillness.
“It would seem so, Lady Townsend. Are you counting my buttons? I believe there are forty or so.”
