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They shared a quiet wedding breakfast with just the two of them. She avoided looking at Cam and had met his eyes only once durin
g the wedding ceremony. Aside from him insisting that he needed her presence to sign the papers for the house, they hadn’t spent any time together in the two weeks since they’d come to their agreement.
Wedded bliss for a house.
Mrs. Dressel had begged to be excused right after the ceremony, which reminded Bridget that she no longer needed a chaperone, so pensioning the woman off was probably for the best.
When the meal had finished, she pleaded a headache and left Cam in the dining room slumped in his chair, staring after her.
It felt odd being in Cam’s house, knowing she was now the marchioness and had inherited the job of running this home as well as his five estates.
He’d mentioned, when they were still on speaking terms, that he wanted to retire to the country as soon as he arranged for renovations and furnishings to be started on the women’s house. It would take a while for the necessary work to be done and to deal with various issues and staffing. They would spend Christmas at his estate as well as another month or more before returning to London. The next session of Parliament would start around the time the women’s house would be ready for staffing and she’d set up a board of directors to handle donors.
Once she was in her bedchamber—which was attached to the sitting room that joined with Cam’s bedchamber, she slowly turned in a circle, studying the room, finding it hard to work up enthusiasm for redecorating, which Cam had assured her she was welcome to do.
Truth be known, she had little enthusiasm for anything. She was married—something she had never wanted. She had her money, but Cam controlled it. She had her women’s house, but at what price?
She sat on the bed and drew up her knees, resting her chin there. Slowly a tear tracked down her cheek, soon followed by more.
Wiping her eyes, she drew in a shuddering breath. What would her life be like now? A husband who viewed her as a punishment. A man she was in love with who would never love her in return.
…
Cam poured another brandy from the bottle on the sidebar in his bedchamber. He had not seen Bridget since she left him right after their wedding breakfast.
He snorted. Wedding breakfast. Hardly a celebration. Just the two of them and no words spoken except “this is lovely beef” and “do you care for more wine?” They’d had more to say to each other when they’d first met.
Now she was ensconced in her bedchamber and had sent word through her lady’s maid that she would have a tray in her room for dinner.
What the hell did that mean?
It was their wedding night, and he’d been having erotic daydreams about it ever since they’d shared a bed at the inn. Thinking about seeing her splayed naked on his bed, her hair spread over his pillow, her arms out to greet him, had kept him hard for the two weeks he’d waited for the house deal to close.
The declarations had been repeated before God and the witnesses. They’d had their wedding breakfast, he’d spent time rearranging the books in his library while Bridget did God-knows-what in her bedchamber, he’d eaten his solo dinner, and now he was ready to consummate his marriage.
He’d heard the footmen carry buckets of water for her bath. That was an hour ago. She should have been bathed, perfumed, dressed in her wedding-night gown, and ready for him. But he felt unsure. She’d had him off-balance ever since they’d agreed to the wedding.
As he knocked back the shot of brandy, he admitted that they had not agreed on a wedding; she’d merely acquiesced to his high-handed threat. But he’d had no choice. He could not allow her to remain in disgrace and to have Society treat her with disdain. It had killed him to see the hurt in her eyes when she’d been mistreated.
He paced a bit, running his fingers through his hair, and then decided he’d had enough. She was his wife, he had husbandly rights and needs, and it was time to confront her. He placed the glass on a table, tightened the belt of his banyan, and strode to the door separating their rooms.
He listened for a minute and heard no sound, so her lady’s maid must have left her for the night. With a light tap, he opened the door.
Bridget sat on a blue-and-white striped chair in front of the fireplace, resting against the padded back, staring into the fire. She didn’t turn but stiffened when he entered the room, telling him she was aware of his presence.
Not sure how to play the next few minutes, he opted for ignoring the coldness between them. He stepped in front of her and took her hand, pulling her up. She studied his face with no expression on hers. No welcoming, no joy, no anger, no anything. It was as if he looked into the face of a painted doll.
Gently, he cupped her face with his hands and brought his lips to hers. She attempted to remain impassive, but when he shifted her head so he could take the kiss deeper, she sighed, and her hands moved to grip his upper arms.
When she allowed him to enter her warm, sweet mouth, he pulled her closer, the curves of her body fitting exactly where they should. His hands moved lower to cup her buttocks, squeezing the perfect globes.
He pulled away from her mouth and kissed the soft skin under her ear. “I want you so much. It’s been hell waiting for tonight.”
At first he thought she would pull back, but then she smiled up at him and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him to her mouth. Their tongues tangled, sweeping and touching, playing the game of lovers.
With one swift move, he picked her up and strode across the room, through the door to his chamber. He placed her gently on his bed, untied the belt on his banyan, and let it drop to the floor. He climbed onto the bed, and with barely any effort, divested her of her nightgown, tossing it to the floor, on top of his dressing gown.
She did not extend her arms in welcome as she had in his daydreams, but she wasn’t pushing him away, either. He stretched out alongside her, watching the guardedness in her eyes. Something was missing from her that he hadn’t noticed until now, most likely since he’d spent very little time with her of late.
