How to Manage a Marquess (39 page)

He opened his mouth to say of course he'd have wished to marry her, damn the scandal, but . . .

Would
he have wanted to settle down? He'd been army-mad then.

But would he have
wished
to? Would he have made as big a mull of that marriage as he had of his with Hortense?

She took his silence as a “no” and shrugged. “I was as much to blame in the matter as you were.”

“No, you weren't.”

“Yes, I was.” She sighed. “Oh, William, it doesn't matter. It happened so long ago. But do you understand why I didn't say anything this time? Since I l-lost that baby, I was certain I'd lose this one, too.” She closed her eyes. “I might still lose it. I'm thirty-seven. I'm too old to be a mother.”

Good God, he was still a selfish idiot. Why was he talking about the past? Belle was carrying his child
now
.

“I believe your body is telling you otherwise, Belle.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I'm so sorry about what happened when we were young. You're right; I don't know how I would have reacted then. But I do know how I'm reacting now. You are not alone. We'll get married at once.”

Belle jerked out of his hold and backed up several steps. “No. I wouldn't trap you twenty years ago and I won't trap you today.”

Frustration spoke before he could silence it. “Good God, Belle, if there is any trapping being done, I did it to myself. I'm thirty-eight. I'm quite aware of how babies are made.”

Poppy hissed again and caught William's bare shin with a claw.

The cat was quite correct. This was not a conversational path he should tread.

“You thought I was too old to conceive.”

And he was not taking that detour either.

He glanced down at Poppy. If the animal could speak, she would tell him to get to the point before another tear was shed.

“Belle, let's not argue. I'm sorry if you don't want the baby—”

“Not want the baby?!” Her brows snapped down. “How can you say that? You can't imagine how much I've ached—how much I still ache—for our first child. Of course I want the baby, only—” She covered her face with her hands. “Only what am I going to do?”

“You are going to marry me.” He stepped close to her, laying his hands gently on her shoulders again. “You will marry me and come to Benton and be my wife and mother to this child and perhaps others, if we are so blessed.”

Belle kept her face covered. “You don't want to marry me.”

He gathered her up against him. “Oh, but I do. Very much. If you'll look inside my coat pocket over there, you'll see there's a special license I am quite anxious to use.”

She stared at his coat as if it was going to suddenly jump up and start dancing around the room.

“I love you, Belle. I've always loved you, even though I haven't always been smart enough to know it. And I need you by my side. I missed you dreadfully these last two weeks. I don't think I can bear being the Duke of Benton if you won't be my duchess.”

She shook her head. “But I'm too old.” She didn't sound as certain this time. “You'll need a younger woman to give you an heir.”

He rested his hand on her stomach. “You may have already taken care of that.”

“Oh.” She gave a watery little giggle.

He tilted her chin up so he could look directly into her eyes. “My sisters-in-law cornered me just before I came here and presented me with a list of women I might marry. It was horrible. Most of them are young enough to be my daughter—our daughter.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can see that would be very . . . odd.”

“Odd? It feels—oh, I don't know—incestuous, I suppose.” He had to make her understand. “I know they mean well, and I also know they won't give up until I'm wed. I don't care that much about the succession, but Albert and Oliver did, so their wives do, too.”

“There must be some woman you could marry who isn't just out of the schoolroom.”

“Yes. You.” He hugged her close. God, she felt so good. “I've already suffered one loveless marriage, Belle. Don't condemn me to another. Please say you'll have me. I promise you, I love you quite desperately.”

His cock was certainly trying to show her how desperate he was. Being naked, there was no way to hide his enthusiasm.

“Oh! Oh, William.” She finally smiled at him. “Oh, I love you, too. So much. Yes, I'll marry you.”

Of course he had to kiss her. And then one thing led to another, which led to another.

Belle was
very
late opening the lending library.

* * *

Belle stood in the Spinster House sitting room for the last time, stroking Poppy and watching William converse with Mr. Hutting, Mr. Morton, and Mr. Wilkinson.

She was married. She was William's wife.

It had all happened so quickly—in less than twelve hours. With his brothers' deaths so fresh in his mind, William had insisted they marry before leaving Loves Bridge so there was no chance their child would be born a bastard. Even more to the point, he was adamant that her father not officiate at their wedding. He said he could not promise to be polite to the man, and she had to agree she'd be happier not having to recite her vows before him.

They'd thought very briefly of marrying in the Loves Bridge church but decided it would be far too . . . complicated to explain to the villagers that Mr. Wattles, the music teacher, was actually the new Duke of Benton, and that boring, staid Miss Franklin, the Spinster House spinster, had been living under an assumed name for twenty years.

“I must tell you, my dear wife will be most displeased with me,” the vicar was saying as the men came over to join her. “Not only will she be unhappy that I've kept this all a secret from her, she was expecting you to play the pianoforte for our daughter Mary's wedding, Your Grace.”

William grinned. He'd been grinning ever since she'd agreed to marry him. “I am sorry about that. Please extend my apologies.”

“I'm sure she'll come around when I tell her how happy you and your duchess are.” The vicar smiled at Belle.

She smiled back. She
was
happy, happier than she'd ever been. Oh, it was very odd to be called “duchess,” but she supposed she'd get used to that. More importantly, she was William's wife, and, in a few months, God willing, she would give him a child, perhaps an heir—though that was one detail they'd not shared with anyone else.

“It's time for us to go, Belle,” William said. “The coach is ready.”

The vicar frowned. “You're certain you don't wish to stay the night? Traveling is so much easier during the day.”

“The moon is full, and the inn where we're headed isn't far.” William laughed. “And I must confess I don't wish to spend my wedding night in a place known as the Spinster House.”

Not that he'd be doing anything at the inn that he hadn't already done here, but Belle wasn't going to say that either. She looked down at Poppy.

“Then I guess it's time for me to say good-bye.” She scratched Poppy's ears and gave her one last, long stroke. Funny. She'd never wanted a cat, but now she was sorry to leave this one.

“Merrow.” Poppy butted her head against Belle's hand.

“You're not taking your pet with you?” Mr. Morton asked.

“Oh, Poppy's not mine, are you, Poppy?”

Poppy blinked at her, twitched her tail, and ran off.

The vicar laughed. “I guess that answers the question, doesn't it? I do hope the new spinster likes cats.”

“Ah, that's right,” Mr. Wilkinson said. “I'll have to write the Duke of Hart at once to let him know he needs to fill the Spinster House opening.”

The vicar nodded, and then grew thoughtful. “Odd having a wedding here. I wonder if that will break the curse.”

Belle looked around the old, worn room. “I hope so. I hope every woman who lives here can be as happy as I am now.”

“Said like the perfect bride you are.” William kissed her hand and then laid it on his arm as the other men chuckled. “But now, gentlemen, we really must be off.”

“Safe travels, Your Grace,” Mr. Wilkinson said as William hurried Belle out the door and into the coach standing ready in the shadows.

“I'll keep you both in my prayers.” That was Mr. Hutting.

“And I'll follow along in the morning,” Mr. Morton said, as he closed the coach door for them.

Belle waved at the men as the carriage lurched into motion. Then she turned her gaze to the Spinster House itself. She'd spent twenty long years there. She hadn't been unhappy, but she hadn't been happy either. She—

What was that?

“Do you see something moving in the tree, William?”

“What tree?”

“The one by the Spinster House.” She craned her neck to get a better view, but the shadows were too dark to see clearly. “Is that Poppy on a limb near the window?”

“I don't know.”

She elbowed him. “You aren't even looking.”

His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. “Very true. Poppy could be dancing a jig on the roof for all I care.” His clever fingers slid under her skirts as his mouth skimmed her cheek. “I'm far, far more interested in seeing what delightful things we can do in this coach in the time it takes us to reach the inn.”

His fingers made their way slowly up her leg. Higher and higher . . .

“Would you like to help me explore the possibilities?”

Not surprisingly, Belle lost interest in Poppy.