She could not recall the last time she had seen her parents, although they permanently lived at one of the Duke of Eldermont’s many town residences. Too occupied with spending the allowance granted them from Madeline’s husband, they would not welcome the intrusion of her into their lives. “I’ll go with you.”
He eyed the stubborn lift of her chin and appeared ready to argue, then shook his head. “Very well. I’ll wait here while you gather your things.”
“I won’t be long.”
She saw no one as she hastened up the stairs. Once in her room, she hurried and packed a valise, realizing that she had very little to pack. Seven years, and there was little to account for. Thoughts awhirl, she swept her gaze over the room one final time, hoping to feel something, anything for the time she had spent beneath this roof. And yet nothing stirred in her heart save a deep sadness for the years wasted to loneliness.
Eager to be gone, she hurried downstairs. To Seth.
Whatever future awaited her had to be better than what she left. Perhaps he evoked feelings too close to those she felt as a girl, those she had no business feeling as a woman entering marriage with a man who vowed to never share himself with her—to never so much as touch her.
But she would overcome that. In time. She must. She wasn’t a naive girl anymore. Seth would never love her. She dare not believe he could.
“Ready?” Seth asked, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, face impassive as stone, mouth hard and unsmiling—ever the grim warrior.
“Yes,” she murmured.
Even as she descended the steps to the waiting carriage, she risked a glance over her shoulder to the dusk-shrouded house, wondering if in leaving its walls she would leave her loneliness behind too.
“Jane.”
She turned. Seth held his hand out and she took it, heart leaping traitorously in her chest at the warm hand enfolding her own.
Once inside the carriage, her fingers slid free of his, the loss of warmth immediate, both a relief and a regret. Settling back against the plump squabs, the sound of the carriage door clicking shut echoed in her head like the clang of a great iron gate.
Staring out the window, they began to move, and she could not help wondering whether a future as Seth’s wife would prove her torment or salvation.
Chapter 19
A strange tightness gripped Seth’s chest as he watched his sister embrace his bride, kissing Jane’s cheek with far more exuberance than he had bestowed on her at the pronouncement of them as man and wife.
A chaste kiss was all he could manage. All he trusted himself to give. He had set the rules for this union of theirs. He would not crumble and show himself weak now, on the first day of their marriage. She would not control him. He would not permit her to enslave him with his craving for her.
Jane met his stare over Julianne’s shoulder and quickly looked away, making him wonder what she saw when she looked at him. The husband she had duped and snared? Try as he might, he could not muster forth much of his earlier rancor. Not if she had done what she did to escape Billings. He’d been glad to remove her from that bastard.
Theirs had not been a grand church wedding. Merely a drawing room ceremony. No flowers. No candles. No pews full of family and friends.
His eyes flicked over her. The moment she entered the room he had cringed with some distaste that she still wore black, feeling irrationally annoyed to be marrying a woman in mourning for another man. He cursed beneath his breath for not thinking to provide her with something other than black. For not thinking of her at all—only his sense of injustice at being forced to wed a woman he would not have chosen.
Stifling a sigh, he accepted the well wishes of the reverend and his wife, still keeping one eye on Jane as she chatted with his sister. Morning light poured through the open terrace doors, making her brown hair gleam richly in its confining chignon.
His sister looked happy, animated, and his heart loosened in his chest, allowing him to breathe easier. At least he had accomplished what he set out to do. If nothing else, he trusted Jane with Julianne. Even if she was a Spencer. Suddenly reminded of his in-laws, he glanced about the room, almost expecting to see their unpleasant visages materialize.
The Duchesses Shillington and Derring stared back at him. Lady Derring’s dark eyes, a stark contrast to her fair hair, slid over him, as frank and direct as any man’s and vaguely threatening.
Lady Shillington was more circumspect, surveying him with sidelong, suspicious glances.
He moved to his wife’s side. In a low voice, he asked, “Could your family not attend?”
She inhaled deeply, her chest rising within her bodice, catching his notice in a way that made him scowl. He didn’t want to notice her attributes, did not want to remember the fullness of her breasts in his hands—the way they felt, the way they tasted. He would do well to never let himself become caught in her spell again.
Smiling thinly, she said, “I did not invite them.”
He studied her a long moment before murmuring, “I trust you did not do so on my account.”
Her fragile smile faltered. “It was my wish,” she answered in a quiet voice.
He felt something tug at his heart. Relief perhaps. Whatever the reason, she had not forced him to suffer the very people that humiliated him years ago. The realization struck him then that he no longer included Jane in their ranks. For better or worse, she was no longer one of them. No longer a Spencer. She was his. Possessiveness crackled through him like summer lightning. His. Who would have thought she could ever elicit such feelings?
Before his icy reserve melted entirely, he turned and addressed the waiting butler. “Are we ready to move to the dining room?
“Yes, my lord. Breakfast awaits.”
“Very good.” Extending his arm to his wife, he avoided her gaze, resisting the pull of whatever lurked in those variable depths, reminding himself that she was not of his choosing, no matter how she made his heart beat harder and his blood pump faster.
Her fingers landed soft as a falling leaf on his arm. Together they led their small wedding party into the dining room, to the wedding breakfast Julianne insisted they host. Even though he saw little point in pretending theirs was a happy union brought about through a customary courtship, he relented. A wedding breakfast was a simple enough matter to please his sister.
Julianne and the Duchess of Shillington maintained a sprightly banter, seeing to it that the conversation never lagged entirely—no easy task considering the bride and groom’s brooding silence.
The coolly dignified Duchess of Derring concerned herself with her food, feasting with a voracious appetite the likes he had never seen in a lady—the only hint of spontaneity in her icy demeanor. Occasionally she paused to level her dark enigmatic stare on him. He stared back, undaunted.
“To Lord and Lady St. Claire,” the lady intoned, dark eyes fastened on him as she lifted her glass high. “May his lordship know the treasure he holds in a wife.”
“Astrid,” Jane whispered, dropping her utensils and tucking her hands beneath the table.
The Duchess of Shillington heartily seconded the toast.
Seth sat utterly still for a moment before tossing his head back in a release of harsh laughter. Hands gripping the arms of his chair, he surveyed his guests.
The reverend and his wife exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncertain whether to raise their glasses at the one-sided toast.
Jane’s cheeks pinkened.
Her friends held their glasses high, gazes burning into him, ready to carve out his heart if he did not raise his glass. Idly, he traced the edge of his glass in slow circles. Jane followed the movement of his fingers, a shadow falling over her eyes.
Shrugging, he lifted his glass in salute.
Jane’s cheeks glowed brighter. Her hands remained tucked beneath the table, far from her own glass as he saluted her.
As they neared the end of the meal, Knightly appeared at his side. “All is in readiness. You best l
eave now if you wish to arrive by nightfall.”
“Thank you, Knightly.” Seth rose to his feet. “If you will excuse us. Jane and I must make haste.”
Jane looked sharply from Knightly to him. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Julianne chimed, her face glowing as she tossed down her napkin. “Although I did have a hand in it.” She smiled pertly, a dimple denting one peaches-and-cream cheek. “You can thank me upon your return.”
Seth shook his head at his sister’s naiveté. She seemed to think a honeymoon the natural course of things. As though his marrying Jane were an anticipated event.
Even when he had reminded Julianne that Jane had been married before and would hold no expectations of a young starry-eyed bride, it failed to matter. To avoid disappointing Julianne, he had agreed.
“Come, Jane,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let us be off.”
He watched, his gut tightening as the tip of her tongue wet her lips. “But my things—”
“Are already packed and in the carriage.”
“I see.” Squaring her shoulders, she gave a brisk nod, reminding him of men bracing themselves for the cannons of a marauding ship.
Still looking uneasy, Jane accepted his hand, her palm warm and soft against his. Small, he realized. Somewhat at odds with her robust appearance.
Their guests followed them to the foyer, their steps a busy clatter on the parquet floor. He waited patiently as she made her farewells.
“Tell Anna not to fret,” Jane said, shooting a quick glance Seth’s way as she slipped on her cloak. “Let her know I am well.”
“Of course,” Lady Shillington assured, fixing her gaze on him, a light of warning in the blue-gray depths that he did not mistake. “Have a marvelous time. Be sure to send word when you’ve returned. I must hear all about this secret honeymoon.”
Nodding, she allowed him to lead her from the house and into the waiting carriage.
Settled against the velvet squabs, she busied herself with arranging her crow-black skirts and repeated her earlier question. “Where are we going?”
He waited until she removed her attention from her skirts, until she met his gaze before answering. “Julianne wouldn’t want me to ruin the surprise. According to her, it wouldn’t be romantic if you knew.”
“Don’t mock,” she whispered, those luminous eyes of hers so bloody wounded that he felt like an utter ass. With a shake of her head, she turned to stare out the window. “Let’s cease the charade, shall we? Your sister is not here. And you’ve already schooled me on the precise nature of our marriage. I have no expectations of romance.”
He studied her profile, noting the hard set to her mouth.
“Does that disappoint you, Jane?” The moment he asked, he regretted the question. It did not matter if she was disappointed. Their marriage was what it was. It could be no more. He could not allow it.
“Not at all.” Her clipped words fell like shards of ice. “I know you don’t believe me, but I never intended to trap you.” That round little chin of hers lifted stubbornly. “I never intended for you to…find out it was me. Never wanted to become a complication in your life.”
A complication. The word seemed inadequate to describe Jane. He doubted he could name what he felt for her, but she was vastly more than a mere complication.
“We’re wrong for each other,” she continued. “Ill-suited at every level. I know you came to Town to find a bride. And you never would have chosen me.” She looked out the window again, her fingers thrumming her lips in a thoughtful manner. “For that, I’m sorry. Sorry that I took your choice from you.”
Even as she said the words, the image of her eyes, glowing like embers in the night through her domino as he thrust in and out of her flashed through his mind. His body responded instantly and he shifted uncomfortably on the seat. He had chosen her. He just had not known it was her at the time.
And if he were honest with himself, he had chosen Jane, too. He had followed her into Lady Shillington’s gallery, suffering no qualms when he slid his hands beneath her skirts, heedless of the risk, uncaring that they could be discovered at any moment. Had they been caught, he would have done the honorable thing and married her.
“I would not say that I was without choice. I am not in the habit of bedding strange masked women. I could have used more discretion. You do not bear total culpability.”
Why he felt the need to set her right on that score, he could not say.
She glanced at him, fingers paused over her mouth, hope brimming in her eyes. Hope that he dare not nurture.
“I know my duty,” he added brusquely, watching the hope fade from her gaze like a diminishing sun over the Indian Sea. “I will do my best to be a good father and a decent husband. A fair husband. That is enough. For both of us.”
His words rang in his head as dismally as the pealing of a funeral bell. Hell. Who was he trying to convince? Her? Or himself?
Cursing beneath his breath, he looked away, staring blindly out the window and willing his heart not to thaw one fragment. Not for her. Not a woman who had proven herself less than honest in her dealings with him. He drew a lungful of air, letting it fortify him.
Her hushed voice reached him, quiet as leaves tossing in the wind. “Already you offer me more than I ever had. My last marriage taught me to expect nothing. I would be a fool to start now.”
He glanced at her. The coolness of her expression validated her words. She would accept what little he offered.
And he would convince himself that he wanted nothing more from her.
Chapter 20
A salty breeze whipped tendrils of hair across her face as she descended the carriage to face the Tudor-style manor house. Well-trimmed yew hedges, lush as green velvet, surrounded the house, contrasting richly with the light Caen stone. Seagulls sang in the not too far distance. Clouds, fluffy as wool, skidded across a cerulean sky.
“Is this it?” Her gaze flew to Seth’s face, hope fluttering in her heart. “The cottage?”
“Yes,” he answered, taking her elbow.
Her breath escaped her in an excited rush. Before Julianne’s accident, his family spent a fortnight every summer at the cottage. Her eyes skimmed the sizeable house, larger than her own girlhood home. The cottage, she mused. An imprecise designation. She had longed to join his family during those summers, to see the ocean, to frolic in the waves with Seth and Julianne instead of languishing at home with her family.
Lifting her face, she inhaled sea air. “Is the ocean far?”
“Not far,” he replied, guiding her up the steps just as the front door opened and an elderly couple stepped out. “Mr. and Mrs. Lowery,” Seth greeted, “May I present my wife, Lady St. Claire?”
Smiles wreathing their lined faces, the couple sketched a bow and curtsey. “My lady,” they greeted.
“Thank you. A pleasure to meet you both.”
“Felicitations on your marriage, my lord,” Mrs. Lowery offered, studying Jane in her gloomy attire with ill-concealed fascination as they entered the tiled entry.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lowery.”
“Would you care to relax in the parlor with some refreshments?”
Seth cut Jane a shrewd glance. “I suspect we would like to visit the beach first off.”
Jane nodded mutely, too eager for words. After all these years, she was actually at the cottage. With Seth. Her husband. The latter thought settled heavily in her chest. Certainly she had dreamed of marrying Seth, of spending summers at the cottage with him. With their children. A deep ache pulsed beneath her breastbone. In her dreams, however, there had been the cheering awareness that he loved her, that he chose her. He had not been cornered and compelled to marry her.
“Of course. We’ll have refreshments waiting for when you return.”
Seth led her through a room of richly paneled wood. They skirted a massive mahogany desk and ventured outside through a pair of French doors that opened to a breathtaking garden. Roses,
lavender, and iris grew in wild abandon, mingling with colorful shrubbery.
He guided her beneath a long stretch of vine-covered pergola. They strolled beneath dappled sunlight until the arbor ended. Stepping clear, they turned down a path of crushed shells, leaving the well-tended lawn behind. She turned her face to the kiss of a salt-scented breeze. Fat seagulls circled the air as they made their way down a steep path to the beach.
“I can imagine no better place for a honeymoon,” she murmured as the pebbled path gave way to golden sand.
He slid her a slow glance before looking straight ahead. “It was Julianne’s idea.”
A shadow fell over her heart at his gruff reminder. Her stride increased as water, blue as indigo, came into sight. She hurried ahead of him, stopping abruptly at the water’s edge to shed her shoes and stockings.
Seth watched her with a curious expression. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve waited a lifetime to feel sand between my toes.”
Tossing her last stocking aside, she straightened and stared ahead, hands braced on her hips, determined that the stern, unsmiling man at her side not ruin the long-awaited moment. The water was calm, the wind rippling its surface only slightly.
“A lifetime?” he echoed. “Your husband never took you abroad? No extravagant honeymoon to the Continent?”
She had enjoyed no honeymoon with Marcus. They married in the spring and he had not wanted to miss the festivities of the Season. Studying the endless blue horizon, she wondered if it was worth explaining that Marcus had preferred to plow the thighs of ladies fresh to Town rather than honeymoon with his new bride.
Lifting her skirts, she hurried to meet the sea lapping at the golden sand—almost as though she fled the unpleasant memories.
Gasping, she laughed as water washed over her toes. “Ah, that’s cold!”
“You look like a girl again,” he murmured, and something in his voice prompted her to look over her shoulder.