Just Wicked Enough Page 3

  “I shall insist upon it. As explained to me, Father made a very generous settlement which includes provisions for me to oversee our finances. I shall have more independence as a wife, and if Falconridge wishes for me to loosen the purse strings, he shall have to keep me very, very happy.”

  “I can’t believe you actually managed to pull this off.”

  Standing at the front of the church, Michael glanced at his best man, the Duke of Hawkhurst. He knew it was poor etiquette—frowned upon by those who determined such things—to have a married man serve as best man but etiquette be damned. His only unmarried friend had disappeared, and during the worst possible moment of a man’s life—the day he took a wife—even the most courageous of men needed someone at his side whom he trusted, someone with whom he had some history. “I can’t believe how quickly this all came about.”

  “Did you really think Mrs. Rose was going to wait until the ink dried on the settlement papers to get her daughter to the altar?”

  Michael wasn’t certain what he’d expected: Mrs. Rose not to be quite so formidable or in such a rush. It all worked to his advantage, of course. And he wasn’t complaining. Following the ceremony, they’d go to the vestry where they’d sign the marriage documents, and in short order, an incredibly large sum of money would be transferred to Michael’s bank, into his account. For the first time in his life, he’d not have debt pressing down on him and he could spend without worrying about consequences.

  Why in God’s name wasn’t he anticipating the future with more enthusiasm?

  “I just…” Good God, if he didn’t know better he’d think he was terrified. “I just…I haven’t even spoken with her.”

  “Mrs. Rose?”

  “Kate.”

  Hawk wasn’t a man easily flummoxed, not even when he’d been caught making love to the Rose chaperone in another duke’s library a little over a month ago. But he certainly appeared flummoxed now. He quickly schooled his features so his thoughts were again unreadable. “I’m not quite certain I understand what you’re saying. You’re marrying the girl in a few moments, and you’ve not spoken to her…what? Today? In the past week?”

  “Since near the beginning of the Season.”

  “So you’re not certain she favors marrying you?”

  “I assume we’d not be here if she didn’t.”

  “Good God, man, you don’t know her mother if you believe that. The stories Louisa has told me…I admire her immensely for being willing to help the family secure a duke for Jenny.”

  “You’d admire her in any case. You love her.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “I do.”

  Michael watched as Hawkhurst’s gaze shifted to the third pew where his wife sat, her gaze never wavering from her husband. All these years, Michael had paid little attention to the Earl of Ravensley’s sister, had assumed Hawk had done the same. What an amazing turn of events.

  Michael couldn’t deny she was lovely, with blond hair and blue eyes that shone with so much love that it was rather disconcerting to witness—as though he were a voyeur who would only ever be able to watch from afar but never experience that depth of sentiment. He found himself wondering if his wife would ever look at him with half that much affection. He cursed himself for even entertaining such ludicrous thoughts.

  Their marriage was business, and a successful business was usually managed without emotion, the arrangement based on an even exchange of desired acquisitions: in their case money and a title. Nothing more.

  If Miss Kate Rose had any expectation of something more, then surely she’d have insisted on speaking with him prior to this hour. Instead it had been her mother who’d paid Michael a visit and set out expectations regarding the wedding: the speed with which it was to take place and the rumors she’d instigate concerning the necessity for haste: his besotted state.

  He’d never been besotted in his life, but considering that her husband was making funds available to Michael, Mrs. Rose was free to start any damned rumors she pleased.

  Yet, he knew in spite of the circulating gossip Mrs. Rose had successfully instigated, other rumors had begun to surface: that, in the same manner as his trusted friend, Hawkhurst, he’d compromised the girl in order to secure her hand in marriage. Wagers were being made on how shortly after the vows were exchanged the first child would make his appearance. Most were betting in fewer than eight months.

  Michael had made his own wager, selecting eleven months from today. He knew all the gentlemen believed he’d made the wager for his lady’s honor, but the truth was he had a weakness where wagering was concerned, and in this matter, he had an advantage. He knew the heir wouldn’t arrive any earlier than he should.

  Nor could he deny that perhaps he had wanted to make a stand for his lady. Guilt was a strong motivator, and he was feeling a tad guilty for not approaching her before now.

  Rather poor planning on his part, especially since he prided himself on his ability to plan.

  The organ suddenly rent the stillness of the sanctuary, and Michael felt as though the chords were vibrating through his chest. The moment was upon him, the final step. Signing the settlement papers had committed him to this course, but still the arrival at his destination was almost unexpected. He’d kept thinking something would happen, that Rose would make further inquiries, would discover the truth, would renege on the arrangement…

  But there they were, with the music reaching the rafters, a small girl walking down the aisle tossing out red rose petals, the beautiful Jenny Rose following behind her.

  And behind Jenny…the doorway…empty.

  At what point was his bride supposed to show herself? Was she sitting somewhere, waiting for him to propose? Everyone had consented except her. Had he really thought she’d show with no encouragement from him?

  A woman who wanted love, marrying a man unable to give it?

  Jenny gave him an appraising glance, before taking her place, and he was struck once more by her beauty and reminded of her quest for passion. He should have insisted she be his wife. With his pride in tatters, he’d forgotten himself, forgotten his position in Society.

  And now it was too late. Too late for them all.

  Chapter 3

  He was older than she remembered.

  When Kate finally came to stand before him, she was surprised by his appearance. Not his clothing necessarily. The wine-colored morning coat enhanced his dark features, and she couldn’t deny he was also more handsome than she’d remembered. But something about him was decidedly different. Perhaps it was that the occasion was more like a funeral procession than a wedding ceremony. In the vestry her father had seemed almost as hesitant as she to step into the sanctuary. Then he’d looked at her and displayed a soft, gentle, almost shy, smile that seemed so out of place on a man with his determination and drive.

  “He’s a good man, Kate.”

  “Is he, Papa?”

  He gave her a brusque nod. “And you’ll hold all the financial power.”

  He’d explained the terms of the settlement to her last night. She’d barely listened. Last night she hadn’t cared. Suddenly, she was beginning to care a great deal.

  Her father had leaned over, kissed her cheek, and brought her veil down over her face. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart. Now, let’s go make your mother happy.”

  And so she’d squared her shoulders and allowed the first man she’d ever loved to walk her down the aisle toward a man she doubted she’d ever love.

  She was vaguely aware of the archbishop speaking in a low voice that still seemed to boom around her, her father responding with his usual confidence as he gently lifted her hand from his arm and placed it on Falconridge’s. The bridegroom neither smiled nor seemed pleased. Rather he appeared to wish he was somewhere else.

  Had he suddenly realized he’d asked for the hand of the wrong Rose sister? Had he forgotten she was not the beauty? Not the one who drew the attention of princes? Not the one who would one day, without question, bec
ome a duchess?

  Falconridge gave her only the barest of nods, before facing the archbishop. Kate found herself wondering what sort of punishment her mother might mete out if she suddenly spun on her heel and marched back down the aisle. No doubt, she’d be entirely cut off. It had happened once before. Mercifully, through the efforts of her father and brother, she’d been brought back into the fold. She doubted she’d be forgiven again for such an embarrassing transgression or another scandal. The first had been private and easily hidden. This one would be quite public and not so easily swept under the rug.

  Briefly she wondered if her parents had revealed her sordid history to the marquess. Did he know everything about her? Or when he had asked for her hand, had her parents breathed an enormous sigh of relief, held their tongues regarding her past, and set about making the arrangements to bring this union to fruition as quickly as possible—before the aristocrat learned the truth of her disreputable behavior.

  While an abundance of money could undo a great many things, it was powerless to change one thing: it couldn’t return to a woman her innocence.

  Was Falconridge expecting to find a virgin in his bed tonight? And would he be furious when he didn’t? Had they considered that aspect to this whole arrangement? Had they been forthcoming or had they hoped it wouldn’t matter?

  She knew men prided themselves on being a woman’s first, and she knew when he realized he wasn’t that he might forever doubt being the father of their first child if he—or she—arrived too soon. And so much emphasis was placed on the birthright of the heir. He would inherit everything. She couldn’t risk her husband doubting the child’s legitimacy.

  Why hadn’t all these realizations and ramifications occurred to her sooner? What in God’s name was she doing standing there, exchanging vows with a man who knew nothing at all about her, who couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than acquire a cursory introduction. One dance, one blasted dance, and a game of lawn tennis, and he’d deduced they were well suited?

  He’d never even taken the time to call on her. And how would he react when he discovered she’d been well suited with someone else before him? Would he respond with heated anger or cold fury? He looked to be a man capable of delivering both in equal measures.

  Standing in front of God and London was an odd place and time to suddenly awaken from an incessantly deep lethargy and begin questioning everything that had occurred to bring her to this moment. She trusted her father’s judgment, she always had, but she knew he could be influenced by her mother, and she had no doubts that it was her mother’s desire to see her daughters marry into the elevated ranks of the aristocracy that was responsible for the path she found herself traveling.

  She was vaguely aware of responding to the archbishop’s questions, of Falconridge gently removing her glove, and placing a gold band on her finger.

  “…pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Falconridge turned to face her more squarely, and she suddenly found herself gazing into his green eyes. What did she see there? Regret, sorrow, remorse? He’d asked for her hand in marriage, was obtaining what he wanted. Why wasn’t he more joyous?

  “I thank you,” he said quietly, before brushing his lips lightly across hers, with as little substance as moonlight passing over the lawn.

  His thanking her was her undoing. She didn’t know what had prompted his words. If he’d read the amassing doubts in her eyes. If he knew she was questioning whether or not she could actually sign the marriage register.

  Whatever the reason, the words spoken gave another meaning to the expression reflected in his eyes. He didn’t want to be here anymore than she did. And just like her, he had no choice.

  And with a startling clarity she realized they’d condemned each other to misery.

  “Why did you thank me?”

  As the open carriage rumbled along the London streets toward the Rose residence, Michael gazed over at his…wife. He could hardly fathom he was actually married. She’d hesitated but a single breath before signing the registry, a moment during which she’d glanced up at her mother’s formidable expression before promptly applying ink to paper.

  During the ceremony, he’d noticed a good deal about her that had escaped his attention before. Or if he had noticed on the previous occasions when their paths had crossed, he’d forgotten. The top of her head did not quite reach his shoulder. She had a light smattering of freckles across her nose and just along the inside of her cheeks. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Her hair was a brilliant red that no doubt attracted the sun, as well as other men. She was sturdy, and he thought her breasts would make for a nice pillow upon which to rest one’s head after a weary day. However, based upon the manner in which she fairly managed to distance herself in the carriage, he assumed she’d not welcome him there.

  He cleared his throat. “I assumed any besotted fool would say something unprompted to the woman he was marrying. And as I am supposedly besotted, with any luck, my words were not heard and yet they may have been interpreted to be another sentiment entirely.” At the altar, leaning in for a kiss, he’d felt a strong need to say something. I thank you was his true sentiment, but his hope was that those in attendance would think he’d said I love you. Words he’d never spoken aloud and never would.

  He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted everyone to think he was besotted.

  “But you’re not besotted, are you? It was only a rumor my mother started. Part of her fantasy regarding this marriage.”

  He saw no reason to fill her with false hope that their relationship would be anything other than what it would be. So he’d made no previous attempt to encourage her affection with flowers, sweets, or poetry. And he saw no reason now not to remain true to his pragmatic attitude. He needed to be clear without being cold, to the point without being abrupt, while giving the impression he fancied being married to her without appearing to fancy her overmuch.

  “No, I’m afraid not, but please don’t take it personally. My failing lies with me, not you. I’m acutely aware of how fortunate I am to have you as my wife.”

  She studied him for a moment the way his man of business often scrutinized his ledgers. It was at once thorough and disconcerting.

  “When my mother said you asked for my hand in marriage—”

  “She said I asked?”

  “Yes. Did you not?” Horror swept over her lovely face. “Oh, dear Lord, don’t tell me she approached you.”

  Damn it all! They hadn’t told her about the auction. They hadn’t told her the truth of the arrangement. Was it because they knew she’d balk at the prospect of having a husband who’d been so flagrantly purchased?

  A pity they’d not alerted him regarding exactly what they would and wouldn’t reveal to their daughter. What other surprises lay in wait?

  “No, I assure you that your mother did not approach me. I approached your father.” That, at least, was true. He’d approached her father and invited him to the auction.

  “Why not approach me?”

  “Courtship requires a great deal of effort and is fraught with the possibility of failure. Even if it were successful, we would have to delve into the realm of working out the details of the financial settlement, at which point much of the affection would no doubt be diminished. Quite simply, I find it to be a great deal of bother, especially when the final decision and the bargaining are handled by the father. I sought to expedite matters, by approaching your father and obtaining his approval.”

  Her eyes held censure, her lips were a straight line that he thought even a kiss might not reshape. “You’re not terribly romantic, are you?”

  “Romance is for novels and poetry.”

  “And affection?”

  Was a stranger to him.

  “I believe you’ll find I’ll make a most agreeable husband.”

  “A pity agreeable is not what I desire.”

  What the devil did she mean by that comment?

  Unfortunately, the driver b
rought the carriage to a halt. A liveried footman stepped forward, opened the carriage door, and assisted the new marchioness as she descended to the drive. Michael followed her out and offered her his arm.

  “This is a conversation we need to finish later,” he told her.

  “We have the rest of our lives, my lord.”

  He wasn’t certain that boded at all well.

  “Oh, my dear, you’re here!”

  Surrounded by her father, her brother, and her sister, Kate endured her mother’s enthusiastic greeting and hug, because she knew it would embarrass her mother if she didn’t, and although the woman irritated her more often than not, Kate still loved her beyond measure. She knew her mother’s heart was in the right place, even if her actions weren’t.

  “Or I suppose I should say, my lady.” Her mother hugged her again and whispered near her ear, “You have no idea how very happy I am for you.”

  “I’m happy for us both,” Kate murmured. She wasn’t going to ruin this day for her mother. If she did then what was the point in having suffered through any of it at all?

  Her mother released her hold, dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, and tapped Jeremy on the arm. “Hug your sister.”

  “I think a bow is more in order. You’re nobility now, aren’t you?” His hazel eyes offered a teasing glint as he bent at the waist, took her gloved hand, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. He’d taken after their father with his dark hair and handsome features. Kate didn’t like to admit it, but she’d always envied him his freedom as the son and the opportunities afforded him. He would no doubt manage the family businesses in time. As though deciphering her thoughts, he winked at her and said, “It’s damn close, Kate, damn close to ruling an empire.”

  “You’re ruining the moment,” Jenny said, shoving playfully on his shoulder, before taking Kate into her arms. “I think you’re the loveliest bride this Season.”

  “Only until the honor falls to you,” Kate said.

  “Not this Season.” Jenny turned to Falconridge. “My lord, welcome to the family.”