His Unexpected Bride (2 page)

Tess could not afford to be want-witted now. She must think with caution and with lucidity how to extract herself from this unexpected situation.

The first thing must be to convince Lord Hawksmoor she needed his help instead of his kisses.
His delicious kisses
. She silenced the part of her mind that had whispered those perfidious words. He might be a dashing blade, but she would be dashed before she allowed him to compromise her. She refused to believe it was too late to save her honor.

Resettling the blanket over her shoulders, because it had slipped when he had pulled her to his hard chest, she said quietly, “I can assure you, my lord, I did not invite you here.”

“Then why I am here?”

“That is a question you should be able to answer better than I. You were the one who intruded into my private chambers. I did not invite you here. Whatever you may think of me, my lord, I am not a harlot.” She blinked back tears. Dash it! She did not want to surrender to weeping now. It would solve nothing. “Oh, Papa will be shattered I am ruined.”

He ran his hand against his unshaven chin. “By the elevens, if you are being honest with me now, then I have made a horrible mistake.”

“I am being honest, and you have made a horrible mistake. Not one mistake, my lord, but two, for you were wrong to come in here, and you are even more in error to linger.”

“Miss Masterson,” he asked, his voice now as hushed as hers, “where does your abigail sleep?”

“Beyond my dressing room.”

“Is your dressing room behind that door?” He pointed to a closed door that was half-hidden by the drapes covering the window farthest from the bed.

She nodded, and her hair fell forward. As she brushed it back, she was caught by his gaze. She could not disregard the longing in his eyes. His fingers rose toward her, but he only ran them along her hair.

“Stop that!” She wanted to cry out her dismay, but on that one thing he was correct. Her cries of resistance might be the very thing that brought someone into the room.

Lord Hawksmoor drew back his hand and regarded it with puzzlement, as if he could not guess why it had touched her. “Forgive me, Miss Masterson.”

“I believe you have much to ask forgiveness for, my lord. Will you please leave?”

“As soon as I can be assured I will not be seen.”

She nodded, knowing that to do anything out of hand now would guarantee her downfall. They must take care.

“Does your abigail come in to check you during the night?” Lord Hawksmoor asked.

“Of course not!” She rose to her knees, her indignation refusing to allow her to sit. “My father has never had any cause to distrust me.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Let us keep it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is we should pledge to act as if last night never happened. It was an error, which I regret deeply, Miss Masterson, but your reputation should not be besmirched when you did nothing worse than sleep in your own bed.” He frowned, then winced, and she knew his head must be hurting dreadfully. That was the price he would have to pay for drinking himself into such oblivion he had crawled into her bed without realizing she was already there. “What I do not understand is how I got here. As I recall, the guest rooms are in another wing from the family's quarters.”

“They are.”

He bent to pick up his shoe, then grasped the tester pole. Leaning his head against it, he moaned. “By the elevens, my head is going to explode.”

Taking pity on him was an instantaneous response, for she had heard Papa complain several times about the agony that followed a night of revelry. Even though she should despise Lord Hawksmoor for creating this unbelievable situation, Tess slipped off the bed and put her arm around him, steering him to the chaise longue by the window. He leaned back on it with a groan.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You are being kinder than I should expect you to be.”

“I know.” She dipped a cloth in the tepid water in the ewer next to her dressing table and settled it on his forehead. “My lord, if you are to sneak out of here, you must be able to walk without bumping into every piece of furniture. That is the quickest way to announce where you have been.”

“You seem to have more knowledge about a man creeping out of a lady's bedchambers than I had anticipated.”

Tess rolled her eyes. How could Lord Hawksmoor be jesting
now?
Or was he joking? She frowned. “If you would pause to think, you would know I am basing my comments on nothing more than good sense. You must not call any attention to yourself as you slip away.”

“I will need directions to return to my own bedroom, for I fear I have no idea where it is in relationship to this room.”

“Is that what happened? Did you get turned around in the corridors?”

He started to shake his head, then flinched again. “The devil take this head!”

“Please, my lord, watch your language.”

Opening one eye, he looked up at her. “I can reassure you what I said was far less crude than what I was thinking.”

“What you should be thinking of now is how you will get back to your rooms.”

“And how I can find out what caused me to end up here last night.” Sagging into the pink cushions on the chaise longue, he said, “I recall nothing after I finished playing cards with your father and Eustace, just as some other chap came to call.”

She sat on the stool facing the chaise longue. “What other man?”

“A very thin man who was a full head taller than your father. What hair he had left was iron gray, and his clothes were simple and dark.” He pulled the cloth down over his eyes. “I do not recall anything much of his face.”

“You are describing Dr. Tucker, who is the vicar at the church in the village.” She jumped to her feet, suddenly fearful. “Why did he call at such a late hour? Was something wrong?”

Lord Hawksmoor grumbled, “I do not recall, and I do not, at the moment, care. Don't we have enough wrong now to keep our anxiety focused on the problem at hand?”

“A problem that will be solved if you would skulk out of here. The reason Dr. Tucker called …” She heard a distant clock chime the hour. Sweet heavens, it was already mid-morning. By this hour, Jenette should have come into the room to bring breakfast. If her abigail had entered and seen Lord Hawksmoor—no, it was too appalling even to consider, but every passing minute increased the chance of Jenette walking in here.

Lord Hawksmoor must have taken note of the chiming as well. “It is time for me to try to be on my way.”

“First, let me take that cloth.”

He peeled it from his forehead and dropped it toward her hand. It missed and fell to the floor. With a grimace, she bent to retrieve it. She straightened, but faltered when she could not ignore his gaze sweeping along her with the unrestrained hunger that had been on his lips when he had pulled her into his arms.

Going to the ewer, she hung the cloth beside it. She clutched onto the dressing table with both hands. No other man's stare had ever unnerved her like this. When they had been introduced yesterday, she had not been so disconcerted, although she had noticed his good looks and charming smile. Had his kiss awakened something within her that she had not guessed existed?

“Don't be a widgeon,” she said.

“I believe it is too late to tell me that now.”

Tess did not want to own she had been talking to herself. If he took umbrage at her comments, so be it. Anything to get him out of her room … and out of her thoughts.

“Can you walk to the door?” she asked.

“I shall know once I have tried.” Lord Hawksmoor pushed himself to his feet. Swaying, he held out his arms like a rope dancer performing beside a gypsy wagon at a market day. He took one careful step, then another. He smiled triumphantly. “It seems I am steadier than I—”

She caught him as his knees folded. The legs of the chaise longue thumped against the floor as she collapsed beneath him, unable to keep him on his feet. When she moaned with the last bit of breath she had, for most of it had been squeezed out of her when he fell atop her, he shifted so his weight was not over her.

“Are you hurt, Miss Masterson?” Lord Hawksmoor asked.

Opening her eyes, she realized he was lying beside her on the chaise longue. Not just beside her, one arm was beneath her with his hand cupping her shoulder, while his other hand was pressed to the cushions on the opposite side of her. She raised her eyes to meet his right above hers. She started to edge away, then realized his leg was across hers, pinning her to the cushions.

“I did not mean to do you any injury,” he continued when she did not reply, for she was too shocked to utter any of the thoughts racing through her head. “Tell me you are all right.”

A satisfied laugh from the other side of the room swept away any words she might have spoken. She heard Lord Hawksmoor curse, but she could only stare at her father who stood in the doorway. Tearing her eyes from his smile, she looked up at Lord Hawksmoor again. A desperate push against his chest persuaded him to sit up, then rise unsteadily to his feet. She grasped the blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Throwing it over her shoulders again, she stood.

“Papa,” she whispered, “please let me tell you what has happened. It is not as it seems.”

She wondered if he had heard her when he walked past her and offered his hand to Lord Hawksmoor. The marquess stared at it in an amazement she understood far too well. Why was Papa smiling when he should be furious to find a man in her private rooms?

“Welcome, Cameron, my boy,” Papa said. “Welcome to the Masterson family.”

“What?” gasped Tess at the same time as Lord Hawksmoor.

“I know the welcome is a bit late.” Papa laughed loudly. “'Twas something I forgot to say last night when you married my daughter.”

Two

Tess stared at her father, then dragged her eyes toward Lord Hawksmoor, who was doing the same, his mouth agape before he closed it in a scowl. Married? Married to this marquess she had met only yesterday? What flummery was this?

Papa came to where she was sitting. There was a lilt in his step she had not seen in several months. That devil-may-care saunter had drawn the eyes of many women, even when Tess was old enough to notice. His sandy hair, still full, matched a neatly trimmed mustache. Although he wore the wrinkles of time on his face, they seemed to vanish when he smiled.

He kissed her cheek. “Many congratulations, my dear. This marriage is everything I would have wished for you.”

“Marriage?” She wanted to accuse Papa of being as muzzed as Lord Hawksmoor, but no odor of brandy billowed from him. “How can I be married to Lord Hawksmoor?”

“I understand your confusion, Tess.” He patted her cheek as he had when she was a child and had pelted him with dozens of questions, one after the other. “When Dr. Tucker arrived so late last evening to preside at the ceremony, we did not wish to wake you.”

“You did not wish to wake me last night
for my own wedding
?” Her voice had a hysterical tinge to it, but she could not help herself. “Papa, you are making no sense. What is going on?”

“Yes, Masterson,” added Lord Hawksmoor, coming around the chaise longue to where they stood. He kept one hand on the back of a chair by her bed, but his steps were steadier than they had been just moments ago. “Do tell us what is going on. This jest is not amusing, neither for me nor your daughter, who has the most to lose from your hoax.”

“'Tis no hoax.” Papa's smile did not waver as he faced Lord Hawksmoor, whose face was now blank of any emotion. “You should know that, Hawksmoor, because
you
were present during the wedding.”

“I recall nothing about a wedding ceremony. There was conversation among us as I recall—quite convivial conversation, but a wedding ceremony? You are mistaken, Masterson.”

“I feared you might be questioning what had happened when I realized this morning how many times you had refilled your glass with my best brandy. That is why I have intruded upon your honeymoon even before the start of the wedding breakfast.” Papa withdrew a sheaf of papers from beneath his coat. “I thought you might want to see these to help you remember. You signed these in front of me, the vicar, and Knox.” He held up two fingers. “Me and Knox. The required number of witnesses to make this wedding legal.”

“Very conveniently,” Lord Hawksmoor said.

“Yes.”

“But no wedding is legal without a license.”

“There was one. You will see a special license amid the papers.”

When Papa added nothing else, Tess wanted to reach out to grab the pages he held. What had Lord Hawksmoor signed in the presence of her father, Dr. Tucker, and the marquess's traveling companion, Eustace Knox? The special license? But why would he come here with a marriage license when he had not known her before they were introduced last night? This was making less sense all the time.

Lord Hawksmoor took the pages and scanned them. His fingers curling into a fist crushed the papers in his hand. He tossed them onto a table, every motion taut with anger. Still his face remained blank and his words calm. “This is madness, Masterson. I was completely foxed last night, if my aching head is any indication. If I was so foolish as to agree to a marriage to your daughter, it was because I had too much brandy.”

“You insult my lovely daughter!”

The marquess bowed his head toward Tess. “Belittling you in any way was not my intention, Miss Masterson, for I am indebted to you for your kindness with my pounding head this day.” Looking back at her father, he said with a hint of an emotion she had not heard before in his voice, “I do not comprehend why you believe I would be a willing party to any such match, Masterson. By the elevens, I never laid eyes upon your daughter before yesterday.”

“But you have had the opportunity to see far more than her pretty face since then.” Papa's smile began to fade.