Just Wicked Enough (4 page)

“But her son has married into one of the wealthiest families in America. Surely she could be bothered to make an appearance.”

“She’s ill, madam,” Falconridge said, and Kate thought she actually heard his teeth grinding.

“I’m so sorry,” her mother said. “Is it the cancer?”

“I’d rather not discuss it, madam.”

Kate saw true sympathy wash across her mother’s face. “I’m dreadfully sorry. Truly I am. It’s such a horrid disease,” she said, as though his answer confirmed her worst fears. “If there is ever anything—”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll convey your concerns. But this afternoon is all about the bride’s happiness, so shall we move on to accomplishing that goal?”

“Of course, my lord. How very noble and considerate of you to place my daughter above all else, when you have your own worries.”

Kate cast a glance at Jenny who simply mouthed, “Be happy.”

If only it were that simple.

Jeremy reappeared with a footman carrying a tray of champagne-filled flutes and winked at Kate. “I thought we might as well get into the spirit of celebrating.”

He passed around the glasses, then held his aloft. “To the health of my dear sister and her new husband. To the health of the Marquess and Marchioness of Falconridge.”

As far as Kate could tell, everyone in the room lifted their glasses and repeated the toast. Her husband clinked his glass against hers, held her gaze, and toasted, “To a long life.”

She drank the champagne. Not a sip. But a gulp. A long gulp. She handed the emptied glass to her brother. “Fetch me another.”

The reality of what she’d done was suddenly hitting her and hitting her hard. She felt as though she were awakening from a long sleep.

“You have guests to greet, Kate,” her mother said.

“I’m the bride, Mother. I think we’ll dispense with that particular practice. People should simply enjoy themselves. We know they wish us well. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here. I see no reason to be so formal.”

“Kate—”

“My wife has spoken,” the marquess said. “It shall be as she wishes.”

Kate looked at him. He lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, holding her gaze as though her eyes were the most mesmerizing in the room, when she knew they were far from it. His, a deep emerald green, were far more intriguing while hers appeared as though unable to decide if they wanted to be brown, green, or blue, so they’d ended up being no distinct color. Rather they were a boring dullness.

She was quite quickly struck with the notion that this incredibly handsome man could have any woman in the world and he’d chosen her. Why? What did he know of her? What did she know of him?

“Something we tend to overlook when considering marriage is that not only do we marry the daughter, but we marry the family,” Hawkhurst said drolly.

Michael fought not to visibly shudder at that poignant prophecy that came much too late to be helpful. He noticed that the Set was well represented by the guest list. It was the English fascination with Americans. Whether they despised, tolerated, or adored them, his fellow countrymen were always intrigued by them.

“Taking them to the country estate with you?” Hawkhurst asked.

“Good God, no. I’m not certain I’ve ever known a more forceful woman than Mrs. Rose. She’s hardly circumspect in her behavior.”

“At least you didn’t have the misfortune of throwing over her daughter for the chaperone. Truly, if you hadn’t honored me by asking me to stand with you, I doubt we’d have been invited.”

“She’d have invited you. Having a number of dukes in attendance is a feather in her cap, and she seems determined to collect all the feathers she can.”

“What of your wife? They say a man can see the future of his wife by studying her mother.”

Michael couldn’t repress the shudder that rocked him with that statement. “I’m certain Kate won’t be as bad as all that. Besides, look to your own wife. Her mother was an acknowledged spendthrift. But Louisa seems to be far more conservative in her spending habits.”

“Indeed, she’s frugal, wise, and not above working if need be to make ends meet. It’s her brother who is addicted to spending what he does not have.”

“Have you heard from Ravensley?”

“No. Nor has Louisa. She pretends it doesn’t matter, but how can it not? To be forgotten by your own brother?”

“She’s not forgotten,” Michael ground out. He knew too well the pain of being forgotten, overlooked, abandoned. His wife had already chosen to leave his side. Her excuse was that she needed a moment alone. But she wasn’t going to find solitude within the confines of this crowded room, and he’d done little more than watch her wander from guest to guest. “Ravensley is no doubt steering clear because of embarrassment over his own abhorrent behavior. He spread the rumors that resulted in you’re having to marry the girl.”

“Honestly, I’m quite glad he did.”

“Because marrying Jenny would have been a dreadful mistake?”

“No, because not marrying Louisa would have been. If you come to love Kate half as much as I—”

“You’ve become quite disgusting with all your romantic notions of late.”

Hawkhurst chuckled low. “I suppose I have. But I’m happy. Even if I’m still impoverished.”

“If you have any money at all, make a wager on when our first child will arrive. I assure you it will be no sooner than nine months from tonight.”

“Quite confident of your prowess?”

“I simply know the haste with which our marriage was arranged had nothing at all to do with her being with child. So it’s a safe bet.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Even as he was talking with Hawkhurst, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Kate. She was undoubtedly one of the most graceful creatures he’d ever seen, and he wondered why he’d paid so little attention to her earlier in the Season. “Her parents told her I’d asked for her hand in marriage.”

“Did you tell her the truth of it?”

Michael shook his head. “Her not knowing works to my advantage. She is likely to be more generous with her affections.”

“And when she learns the truth?”

“She shan’t. If her parents didn’t already tell her, they have no reason to tell her now. Besides, the auction was handled with a good deal of discretion. I doubt any of the participants would care to admit he’d been outbid. It’s a secret that will go the grave.”

Hawkhurst raised his glass. “A toast, my friend. May you have better success keeping your secrets than I did keeping mine.”

Kate thought she might cause bodily harm to the next person who told her how fortunate she was to have snagged the Marquess of Falconridge. The ladies, of course, wanted details. Kate did little more than smile mischievously.

He had, of course, remained by her side during the first part of this dreadful affair, while they’d accepted congratulations together. But once it was clear that all their guests had arrived, they’d parted ways, he to speak with Hawkhurst and she…to just slip away. But ladies kept delaying her progress.

She’d almost made it to the door leading into the garden when she heard a familiar voice.

“Kate?”

She turned and smiled at the Duchess of Hawkhurst. “Your Grace.”

“Oh, please. We’ve been through far too much to be so formal.” She reached out and took Kate’s hands, squeezed gently. “I must say I was rather surprised by this sudden event. I thought you were going to let
me
find you the perfect lord.”

“Are you saying my husband isn’t perfect?”

Louisa blushed. “Of course not. I simply didn’t realize that Falconridge had caught your fancy.”

“Quite honestly, he hadn’t. Nor had I realized I’d caught his. I’ve had other matters on my mind, and until today I don’t think I was truly aware of the momentous path I was traveling. I have to admit to suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed.”

“Well, at least you had no scandal associated with the gossip surrounding you.”

“You seem to have weathered your own scandal admirably.”

“We do what we must.”

While Louisa was sister to the Earl of Ravensley—possibly the most impoverished lord in all of London—she’d not been above seeking employment as a lady’s chaperone. It was a reputable undertaking for ladies of quality, and Kate’s parents had hired then-Lady Louisa to serve as their daughters’ social chaperone, because she was well acquainted with the lords, knew who was suitable and who was not.

“At the beginning of the Season, when we were making rounds among the Set, you didn’t recommend Falconridge. Why not?”

Louisa glanced around, as though wanting to ensure that no prying ears would hear what she had to say. When she seemed content with their seclusion, she said, “As you know, he and my brother are very good friends. And my brother and his friends tended to stay out until all hours, engaging in…debauchery. Or so I assumed. Hawkhurst, too, was part of their inner circle. I judged him as harshly. And I’ve come to realize that I judged him unfairly. It’s quite possible I did the same with Falconridge.”

“Do you know anything at all about him?”

“Alex and his friends wanted me to put in a good word for them with you and Jenny. I told them I would only do it if they proved themselves suitable. Falconridge thought I asked too much. But I’m not certain I can find fault with his attitude any longer. I’ve come to discover men are such prideful creatures.”

“And we’re not?”

“Of course we are. But we’re more capable of bending. Men tend to break.”

“Do you believe the rumors that he’s besotted with me?”

The duchess glanced down.

“Louisa?”

She lifted her gaze, and Kate could see the answer in her eyes. “Let me ask you this, then. Do you think there is any chance he could become besotted with me?”

“If anyone at all has the power to steal his heart, it is you.”

Kate couldn’t help herself. She smiled. “That was very diplomatic.”

“If I may be so bold, Kate, I worried about you while I was your chaperone. You don’t enjoy the parties or the attentions nearly as much as Jenny. Perhaps marriage to Falconridge will give you whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Kate glanced across the room to where her husband stood watching her. He lifted his glass, a silent salute.

“I also think you could very well be what he’s looking for,” Louisa said.

“I doubt it,” Kate said, before turning back to Louisa. “And unfortunately for him, he may have to learn that fact the hard way.”

M
ichael had recently decided there were three times in his life when he needed to take extra care in preparing himself: when he was to be auctioned, when he was to be wed, and when he was to bed his wife for the first time. As he stood in his bedchamber, he couldn’t help but think a little extra care might be needed for the last situation.

From the moment they’d left the Rose household—following a rather unimaginative and tedious dinner with far too many celebratory toasts—a tenseness as brittle as ice had surrounded them. Neither had spoken a word as the carriage had conveyed them to his London residence. He couldn’t help but believe she was as pre-occupied with thoughts of the coming night as he. Every event throughout the day had been only a prelude to the upcoming consummation.

All her things, including her lady’s maid, had been delivered by the time they’d arrived at the residence. He’d taken Kate on an incredibly dull tour of the place, naming rooms as though she didn’t have the good sense to properly identify them herself, introducing her to the small staff, certain her first order of business would be to increase its numbers.

She’d taken inordinate interest in the library, making her first comment to him since their arrival. “I’d like to fill all these shelves with books.”

“If it pleases you,” he’d responded.

They’d remained in the library for a bit of reading before bed. Well, she’d read; he’d merely stared at the page in his book, wondering how best to approach her. He knew exactly how to approach a mistress…but a wife?

How did one lure a wife into his bed?

His mistress had required nothing more than a tilting of his head toward whichever piece of furniture he desired to take her on. His mistress had been an expert at bringing him unparalleled pleasure.

But his wife…by God, he was saddled with the burden of introducing her to the ways of the flesh, and the embarrassing truth was he hadn’t a clue where to begin. Not that he wasn’t well acquainted with passion, but he was accustomed to women who needed no instruction. How delicate were a virgin’s sensibilities? What were his wife’s expectations? Did she even have expectations? Was she aware of what passed between a man and a woman? Had her mother spoken to her? Most likely not. Certainly Michael had never received any instruction. He’d gone at it with the instincts of a young stallion. But women of quality didn’t have the luxury of experience. No, their first time was reserved for their husbands—and rightly so.

Particularly among the aristocracy where there could be no question as to the father of the heir.

He wanted to put his wife at ease. He didn’t want to frighten her, although the potential to do so was certainly there. He had to keep his ardor in check until he had properly prepared her for what was to come. He wanted her to have no regrets that he was in her bed. He wanted her to welcome him there in the future.

Releasing a groan of frustration, he realized that for the first time in his life, he might have an inkling of what his mistress had experienced: the doubts, the worry over pleasing him. In a way his position was no different than hers had been. He’d been bought to serve as a husband for a wealthy American heiress.

He tightened the sash of his emerald green silk dressing gown as he approached her door. He supposed a nightshirt was in order, so as not to frighten his virgin bride, but the truth was he didn’t own any. He couldn’t stand feeling confined or crowded. It was the reason he’d never actually slept with his mistress…or she’d never slept with him. She knew to leave his bed once passions cooled.

How fitting that with his wife, he would be the one approaching her and the one leaving when all was done. He shook off the resentment that threatened to overcome him. Going into this venture with both eyes wide open, he had no cause to regret where he now stood. Life would be better all the way around—and he’d thank her for it. Repeatedly. While not her specifically, marriage to her and the funds it would provide would lift him from the depths of despair and poverty into which he’d plunged.

It was time to pay the devil his due.

Or
her
due as the case may be. Not that he considered Kate Rose Tremayne a devil, but he certainly felt as though he’d made a bargain with that very creature in the form of her father.

He rapped his knuckles once on the door separating their bedchambers, before opening it. The gaslights were lit. She was lounging on a chaise longue near the window, a book in her lap, a box of chocolates beside her. She was dressed for the night in a white gossamer nightgown, a shawl draped over her legs. Desire slammed into him, almost destroying his resolve to go slowly. He’d been physically attracted to Kate Rose from the first moment he’d met her. He assumed she couldn’t make the same claim. She didn’t seem the least bit interested in his arrival. She barely lifted her gaze from the book as he strode farther into the room.

“I’ve come to say good night.”

“Good night.” She plucked out a chocolate and popped it into her mouth.

He studied her, trying to decipher the meaning of that concise reaction. She was either more naïve than he’d realized or it was a damned intriguing story that she was hesitant to set aside. He cleared his throat. “I think you’ll find it’ll go more pleasantly if we say good night in bed.”

She gave him her complete attention then, the tiniest of creases etched between her brows. “Do you wish to
say
good night or to
show
me good night?”

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 is 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.”