Just Wicked Enough Page 5

  Maybe not as naïve as he’d assumed.

  “Show you, I suppose.”

  “And by showing me, I take it to mean you’ll lift the hem on my nightgown and wedge yourself between my thighs and take to rutting like a wild boar until your husbandly rights are satisfied.”

  No, not naïve at all. American ladies were vastly different from English ones. He couldn’t imagine any other lady of his acquaintance speaking with such forthrightness. It took everything within him not to shift with discomfort at her brazen description, nor take exception to her opinion of his prowess. He couldn’t deny there were times when his enthusiasm bordered on the feral, but he certainly never grunted, snorted, or rutted. “I’d planned to use a bit more finesse.”

  He’d not intended to growl the words but they sounded rough even to his own ears, which unfortunately gave them an uncivilized cadence.

  “Do you love me?” she asked.

  She couldn’t seriously be posing that ludicrous question, and yet her expression contained no hint of teasing. Rather she appeared to be incredibly sincere. Why was she making this moment so blasted difficult by referring to matters of the heart with which he had no experience? Why did she look so damned hopeful as though the answer could be anything other than what it was?

  He averted his gaze, studying the pattern on the faded wallpaper. He should have it replaced. He would have it replaced. If she approved the funds. That was the bargain he’d struck with the devil.

  “As I thought,” she said rather smugly. “Your answer and mine, my lord, is no.”

  He turned his attention back to her. She popped another chocolate into her mouth and returned to reading her book, apparently dismissing him as though he were of little or no consequence.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  She looked at him as she might some dimwitted fool. “No. I will not spread my legs for any man who has not earned my love.”

  “This was not the arrangement I made with your father.”

  “More’s the pity. You should have discussed the arrangements with me.”

  “You are my wife. You have a duty to give me an heir. I have rights as your husband—”

  “I believe you will find, my lord, if you closely read the settlement papers that I hold the reins on our finances.”

  “As I did read the damned settlement papers closely, I am well aware of the arrangement.”

  An arrangement Farnsworth had argued vehemently against. He favored English law, which, upon marriage, allowed that all belonged to the husband.

  Rose had merely studied the smoking end of his cheroot. “I favor Rose law. The marquess has already proven he has no prowess where money is concerned. Kate was raised on my lap and her banking acumen is unparalleled for a woman. I’m handing over an unprecedented amount of my hard-earned money, gentlemen, and I don’t do so lightly. It is done on my terms or not done at all, English law be damned.”

  Michael had considered walking out, hosting another auction, but he had no desire to suffer through the indignity again. And so he’d consented to giving his wife power over him. It was the shortest, least troublesome route. She’d seemed an agreeable sort when he’d danced with her, but now he had to wonder if he might have misjudged her. He had little doubt her father had acquired his wealth through ruthlessness. Had he passed that particular trait on to his daughter as she’d sat upon his lap?

  “I will only loosen the reins on our money if I am happy,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “I assure you that I will not be happy if you crawl beneath the sheets with me before you have earned my love.”

  “And how in God’s name do you expect me to do that?”

  “Speak with Lord Bertram. I have great affection for Lord Bertram.”

  “The man is a toad!”

  “He is most kind and generous.”

  “Generous? How generous can I be when I have to ask, ‘My dear, may I have a few shillings so I can purchase you some trinkets?’ You will dictate my generosity.”

  “Generosity is not measured by the number of things one is given. Generosity of spirit, of heart—”

  “I don’t bloody well believe this!”

  “Believe what you will, but know this. Lovemaking is an extremely intimate act that should transcend beyond the physical to include the emotional. We have spoken hardly at all. You cannot possibly believe I would bare my body to a man who has yet to discern my favorite color.”

  “Good God, woman, what has colors to do with bedding?”

  “They both speak of intimacy, of knowledge regarding another’s preferences.”

  “Then what is your favorite color?”

  “That’s for you to deduce.”

  Was she saying that announcing her favorite color was the key to unlocking her body?

  “Red.”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “You have to know, not guess.”

  Damnation! “I’ve given you a blasted title!”

  “My mother wanted the title, not me, and I believe you were well aware of that fact as I mentioned it the night we met.”

  “If you didn’t want”—in frustration he waved his hand toward the bed—“that with me, then why didn’t you tell your parents you wouldn’t marry me?”

  She laughed lightly. “I could have sworn you were acquainted with my parents. They think they know what is best, and they are not easily swayed otherwise. You can’t possibly believe my opinion on this marriage was of any consequence.”

  “But you’ve been most pleasant throughout the afternoon and into the evening—”

  “And I’ll continue to be pleasant during the day and into the evening. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you can deny that I’m still being most pleasant. I simply won’t be bedded just because it is your husbandly right.”

  He began pacing in front of the bed, panic settling around his heart. How could matters have come to this? He came to a thunderous stop with his back to her, gripped the bedpost, bowed his head, and ground out, “What about the money?”

  “What about it?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, sitting there all smug and knowing, as though she sat upon a throne and held the fate of her subjects in her hand. “Do I have to earn your affection before you release any to me?”

  The only sound in the room was the hissing of the gaslights. He thought for an indescribable moment that he might have seen consternation in her eyes, but it was no doubt only a flickering of the shadows in the room. He felt as though he’d walked into a torturous realm where a man’s pride was flayed over and over for eternity. He’d already paid his price and she was demanding more.

  Slowly she shook her head. “No, we’ll see to your debts in the morning.”

  “And beyond the debts, I have affairs which require funds.”

  “I’m not paying for your mistresses.”

  She fairly bristled, the first bit of real emotion he’d ever seen in her. As angry as he was at her, he was also pleased to see she could elicit fire as well as ice. And damn it all, if the fire didn’t make him more determined to get her into bed.

  “I’m not referring to those types of affairs. I was referring to personal matters.”

  “We can discuss them in the morning.”

  He spun around and glared at her. “I could spend a thousand pounds for a thousand days and still have money to burn.”

  “It is that attitude, my lord, which resulted in your having to marry for money. We will not spend frivolously simply because we have an abundance of coins at our disposal.”

  He slapped his palm against the bedpost, relishing the stinging pain that served to anchor his fury so he didn’t strike out at her. “This is not what I bargained for.”

  “Quite honestly, my lord, I don’t give a damn. You couldn’t be bothered to call on me before today. You’ve never even addressed me by name. You will find that I’ll be quite generous when it comes to dispensing our funds, but as for everything else you acquired by marriage, it i
s not easily given. I will not be merely money and a means by which you can effortlessly dispense your lust.”

  “Lust requires desire.”

  He regretted the harsh words the moment they flew from his mouth without thought, a second before she looked as though he’d struck her a physical blow.

  “My apologies, my lady. Those words were uncalled for and their implication untrue.” With a sigh, he banged his head against the bedpost. “We’ve gotten off to a most unfortunate start.”

  “Because nothing lies between us except my father’s money. If you’re discontent, my lord, we may seek an annulment. My father is quite handy at obtaining them.”

  No, her solution wasn’t an option.

  “I’m not in the mood to seek an annulment.”

  “Then you accept the revised terms of the agreement?”

  What other choice did he have? He wasn’t in the habit of forcing women to welcome his attentions, and he couldn’t risk causing her unhappiness. Rose, damn him, had been very explicit in the terms he’d laid out regarding the settlement. His daughter, first and foremost, must always be happy.

  Michael nodded brusquely. “I do.”

  “Good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She popped another chocolate into her mouth, and he almost hoped she’d choke on it.

  Kate almost choked on the chocolate. Her throat was knotted so tightly with tension she couldn’t swallow. As soon as he’d stormed from the room and slammed the door in his wake, she spit out the confection and took several deep calming breaths until she began to relax.

  She’d almost ruined everything by laughing out loud at the incredulity expressed in his voice regarding her opinion of Lord Bertram. He did very much resemble a toad with protruding eyes and lips that looked as though they’d been stung by a swarm of bees. But for all his unattractive appearances, he was indeed kind. Not that Kate had ever entertained taking him as a husband. Still he was an example her own husband could follow, although she suspected he wouldn’t welcome any further suggestions from her.

  He’d been livid before departing her company.

  Although she’d achieved her end result, keeping him from her bed, it hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. Perhaps she should have let him bed her, let him discover her secret, but she had no idea how it would affect him. And the truth was, while she’d blithely suggested annulment, she wasn’t quite certain she wanted one.

  She would be more independent here under his roof than she’d be under her parents’. She and Falconridge could work out an agreeable arrangement. In time, as their affection for each other grew, then she could allow him into her bed knowing he would forgive her sins. And she would give him an heir eventually. They had plenty of time. She was only twenty after all.

  On the other hand, his reaction had confirmed that his only interest in her was the money. He’d offered no words of undying love, no words of deepest desire. He’d shown no disappointment that she wasn’t willing to be bedded. He’d not tried to convince her that within his arms she’d find bliss. She was the means to two ends: the obliteration of his debt quickly followed by further spending and the obtainment of an heir.

  She’d known that of course, but still the reality of it was painful to admit. He cared only for his own needs, not hers. Not once did he ask her what she wanted, not once did he inquire as to the key to her happiness. She required time for her heart to heal. She needed to be more than coins jingling in his pockets. While she’d spoken of love, she didn’t truly expect to ever again acquire it, but she thought they could develop affection for each other, could at least come to care for each other’s happiness. They simply needed a little bit of time to come to know each other.

  The slamming of another door rang out. The door to his bedchamber?

  She heard the harsh beat of feet guided by fury making their way down the stairs. She rose, not certain what she planned to do, but her curiosity—

  Another thundering bang from below.

  She hurried to the window, drew back the drapery, and glanced down in time to see her husband sweeping down the path toward the street, his cloak billowing out behind him in a rather ominous way, as he disappeared into the fog-shrouded night. Her imagination fueled by far too many novels conjured up unflattering scenarios regarding his plans.

  Was he off to find a woman to sate his lust?

  Was he off to drink himself into oblivion?

  Was he off to vent his anger on some unsuspecting soul?

  Lord, she knew nothing at all about his temperament, about what harm he might be capable of inflicting.

  She’d watched his knuckles turning white as he’d gripped the bedpost, and she couldn’t help but believe he’d been imagining that thick wood was actually her slender neck.

  Her father had never been prone to violence, and she’d been incredibly sheltered. Wisely, her father had put safeguards in place to ensure the marquess never brutalized her, but a man could exact his revenge in any number of ways that didn’t involve physical violence.

  Leaving her alone and lonely was one of them.

  But then she’d been lonely ever since her mother had torn Wesley from her life. And now he was married, forever lost to her. And so she’d married expediently, partly for some sort of twisted revenge. What a misguided sense of retribution that decision was turning out to be.

  The marquess had so few books on his shelves. Was the man even literate? They’d sat in the library for an hour reading, and not once did he turn a page. She could think of little worse than living with a man who did not value books.

  All right. Something was far worse. Living with a man who held no affection for her whatsoever.

  Wesley had been the first and only man who had truly wanted her. It was Jenny the men fawned over, Jenny the men wanted. Kate had always protected her heart by burying her nose in her books and pretending it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the Rose daughter unattached men favored.

  And then Wesley had come into her life, and she’d known the splendor of love. He’d written her poems, brought her flowers. Almost from the start, he’d coerced her affection to life by never shying away from sharing his own feelings. They’d arranged secret trysts. He’d whispered sweet words of longing in her ear. He’d won her heart over in such a short time.

  But her mother had declared him a fortune hunter and his love false. But she was wrong. With all her heart, Kate knew her mother was wrong.

  Now she was free of her mother, but shackled to Falconridge. A man who truly did want her only for her money. But Falconridge came with a title, while Wesley had not. Amazing how the direction of her life was influenced by an accident of birth.

  Not once had Falconridge spoken sweet words. Not once had he even bothered to lead her to believe she—and not money—had been his reason for asking for her hand.

  Kate longed for a man who cared about the yearnings of her heart.

  “She is insisting I earn her love.”

  Standing within Hawkhurst’s library, Michael downed the whiskey from the glass like a civilized man when all he truly wanted was to drain every drop from the bottle. He looked at his rumpled host and didn’t want to contemplate that he might have taken his friend from something other than sleep.

  “I must confess from the outset, when you told me you had devised a plan to acquire an heiress with little or no effort, that I had doubts you would meet with success,” Hawkhurst said.

  “So you’re saying her insistence is a just punishment?”

  “I’m saying I’m not surprised the arrangement isn’t turning out to be as effortless as you anticipated.”

  Michael dropped into a nearby chair and sat facing his friend. “How do I do it? How do I make her look at me the way your duchess looks at you?”

  Hawkhurst seemed surprised. “How does Louisa look at me?”

  “As though you are her entire world.” He averted his eyes from the duke’s self-satisfied smile, ignoring the way his friend’s gaze had
shot to the doors that would lead to the stairs that would lead him back to his wife. Michael could well imagine the duchess was going to find herself aroused from slumber if she wasn’t already awake, awaiting her husband’s return. Michael, on the other hand, had never held a woman’s heart, not even his mother’s. Certainly no woman had ever anticipated his arrival, his return to her side. He wasn’t particularly proud of the fact he found himself envying Hawkhurst.

  “Honestly, Falconridge, I believe you underestimate your ability to earn her affection. After all, I like you well enough.”

  With disgust, Michael shifted his gaze back to Hawkhurst. “Hmm, so I should take her drinking, gambling, and whoring?”

  Hawkhurst grinned. “It’s not merely the things we do together. We have a bond, a history. I trust you.”

  “What’s my favorite color?”

  Hawkhurst blinked several times. “Pardon?”

  “She says I should know her favorite color. If I cared for her at all, I would know it. I’ve known you for thirty years, and haven’t a clue regarding your favorite color. Devil take her! I’ve never heard of anything so ludicrous in all my life. I may very well have married a mad woman.”

  And wasn’t that jolly well marvelous to contemplate: that he might find himself dealing with another lunatic.

  “Women do have a tendency to look at the world slightly differently than we do,” Hawkhurst confirmed.

  “So what am I to do?”

  “What you should have done from the beginning: court her.”

  “I’d hoped to avoid that tedious process.”

  “At least you go into it knowing you’ve gained the prize.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve never had much success with gaining a woman’s favor. I bought my mistress all sorts of baubles and yet she left. What do women want?”

  “Perhaps we should bring Louisa into the conversation.”

  “No, God, no. It’s humbling enough discussing it with you.”

  “But she served as Kate’s chaperone for a while. Lived with her, observed her. Surely, she’d know the girl’s favorite color.”