Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (15 page)

"I won't do it!" she yelled. She leaped from her chair in her agitation, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I don't want to go to London! I don't want to be a Duchess! And I won't be your wife!"

Stunned by her reaction, Pax catapulted out of his chair. In two strides he was facing the raging girl and his hands bruised her shoulders in a grip of iron as he shook her. Her clear blue eyes widened, and the tip of her tongue licked her slightly parted mouth. Suddenly Pax's senses expanded at the feel and look of the girl and without thought he dragged her against his chest and covered her mouth with his own.

It was a savage kiss. It was a kiss meant to subjugate her. Leslie struggled ineffectually as his tongue invaded her mouth. She felt no passion, only shame and fear. When her knees buckled, Pax came to his senses. In that moment Leslie pushed at his chest with her last remaining strength. As his hold broke, she whirled behind the chair, clutching the back like a raised shield.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Leslie's chest heaved in her agitation, but despite the trembling of her body her words rang out strongly.

There was silence in the room except for the rasping breathing as they each fought for control. Leslie glared at Pax, her eyes dark with angry emotion. He reached up to smooth his hair with an unsteady hand. Slowly he picked up the decanter, pouring himself another brandy. Staring intently at the girl, his face was shadowed as he lifted the glass to his lips. He downed the liquor in one furious gulp. Leslie's eyes never left him as she waited for him to speak. His words when they came were spoken in a quiet controlled tone.

"I will not touch you again. We will live as man and wife in name only." He paused to organize his thoughts. "All I ask is that you conduct yourself as befits your position in life. You are a child and have no awareness of the scandal your behavior has created. I would appreciate it if you could contrive to bring respectability to the title."

Stunned by the words, Leslie could find no immediate answer. But before she could think of a reply, Pax turned on his heel and stalked from the room. The slamming of the door echoed in the silent room. Leslie remained behind the chair, still not convinced that Pax was gone for good. Minutes crept by and she finally accepted the fact she would be undisturbed for the evening. And apparently every other evening, she acknowledged triumphantly.

So the lines for battle had been drawn. In public they were to appear as a happily married couple. In private they would have their own lives. She wondered at her contrary mind. One minute she was all righteousness, foreswearing any part of the physical side of marriage unless Pax came to her in love. However in the next breath she was hurt and bewildered that he should reject her so easily. What was wrong with her. After all, that was what she had wanted, wasn't it?

"Of course it is," Leslie said aloud as though to reassure herself. Feeling chilled, she climbed under the satin comforter, plumping the pillows behind her head. She sighed, grateful for the warmth, and burrowed deeper in the bedclothes. "It's all just bleeding perfect!"

A lone tear inched its way out of the corner of her eye and slowly slid across her temple to the hairline. Then as though it had presaged the breaking of the dam, more and more tears followed. Leslie made no sound in her sorrow, the silent crying more indicative of her suffering than great wracking sobs. She felt that she had lost a vital aspect of her life. She knew the bargain she had made was empty.

Even in her anger at the enforced marriage she had assumed that something could be salvaged. She had hoped that after their initial anger had been resolved they might be able to patch up the relationship. She still loved Pax with her whole heart. She had prayed that at some future time he might forget his fury and grow fond of her again as he had when she was his ward. Then by some miracle he might even grow to love her. But after what had happened tonight, Pax would never forgive her.

Miserably she curled into a ball, willing herself to forget everything in the arms of sleep. As warmth crept into her body she relaxed, dozing fitfully until morning.

"That's right, Leslie. Back straight. No. No. Don't look down."

With Nell's constant stream of instruction, Leslie executed another shaky curtsy. The muscles in her shoulders ached and her leg muscles responded awkwardly with the unaccustomed form of exercise. From the corner of her eye she could see Pax lounging in the wingchair by the fire. She would dearly love to smack the smile of amusement off his face. She gritted her teeth and completed the curtsy.

"One more time, Leslie," Nell coaxed quietly. "This time try to do it with a little more unconscious effort. Pretend that you've been doing it for years. It's a perfectly natural position if you don't think about it."

It's perfectly unnatural, Leslie thought rebelliously. She sighed heavily, pasting an insincere smile on her lips. Taking two steps forward, she once more dropped into a curtsy. This time her heel caught in the hem of her dress and she savagely kicked at the wayward material. Her balance gone, she sprawled in a heap on the carpet.

"Bravo, your Grace." Pax's lightly drawled comment exacerbated her feelings of mortification.

"Stubble it, you grinning baboon," Leslie snarled as she struggled to her feet.

"Children. Children. This is no way to conduct ourselves in a drawing room," Nell chided. Her eyes swung from one glaring combatant to the other and she covered a contented smile with her handkerchief. Watching Pax and Leslie in the past weeks had been extremely entertaining.

It had been more than apparent that the wedding night had been a disaster. Pax's black mood hung like a pall over the estate. The servants tiptoed through the rooms, shrinking from anything that might bring them to the attention of their master. The only peace had been when Pax called for his stallion and thundered off to ride off his pent-up emotions. Leslie for her part was unfailingly cheerful when not in Pax's company. It was only in the clear blue eyes that Nell was able to discern the sorrow and bewilderment of the child.

The gratefully departed Earl would surely have given up all hope for a happy conclusion to this union, Nell thought. But then one could never proclaim her late husband, who thought a hunting beagle was the most superior companion on the earth, perceptive. Watching the young couple, Nell wondered how long it would take for them to discover the true source of their battle. They were both passionate creatures, and once they discovered the joy of a loving relationship, she thought they would suit admirably.

Nell already had discerned Leslie's love for Pax. At first she was unsure whether Pax would be able to reciprocate the girl's feelings in strength. However in the past weeks Nell was aware of a softening in his attitude toward the child. He goaded her most when her spirits were flagging. It was almost as though he prodded her, knowing full well that she would take up the challenge and give it her best effort just to spite him. Although generally his face was set in a lowering frown, his eyes never left the girl. Occasionally a glint of admiration peered from within his flashing gaze, but he never lapsed into praise for the perseverance of the child. Ah, men! They were such enchanting bastards, Nell mused complacently. Life would be peaceful without them, but unutterably boring.

"Will you pour, my dear?" Nell indicated the tea tray that Winters had brought in. She patted the silk cushion beside her as the flushed girl, pushed a lock of hair away from her face, anchoring it firmly behind her ear.

"Of course, milady." Leslie's sweet voice belied the militant look in her eyes. She kept her hands steady, soothed by the familiar routine. She filled Nell's cup, adding the requisite three spoons of sugar and a dollop of heavy cream. Then lifting another cup she poured it to the very brim. "Your Grace?"

Pax squinted at the cup knowing there was no way that he could carry it without spilling it. Black eyes locked with innocent blue. Shaking his head, he waved his hand languidly in the direction of the sideboard. "No thank you, your Grace. I would prefer brandy."

Leslie could feel the warm color wash up her neck and stared down bleakly at the filled cup. For one moment she contemplated hurling it at the infuriating man. The only thing that kept her from that action was a doubt that she could throw that far. She refused to accept defeat by putting the saucer down. She controlled her hand with a will of iron and slowly raised the cup to her mouth. The rim touched her lip, and she bent her head slightly so that she could drain some of the tea before it sloshed into her lap. Taking a deep draught she kept her face expressionless as she replaced the saucer on the tray.

Pax slowly got to his feet bowing elegantly before the triumphant gleam in Leslie's eyes. Although his face was equally expressionless, there was a glint of admiration in his eyes as he poured himself some brandy. He downed it, then strolled to the fireplace, staring into the fire. Turning, he leaned his shoulders against the mantelpiece.

"We will be leaving for London tomorrow," he announced without preamble.

"So soon, Pax?" Nell asked. "I thought perhaps another week or two."

"The longer we wait the harder it will be." Pax's harsh tones left no room for argument.

Leslie felt frozen in position. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, the knuckles white. She could not go to London. She was not ready. It had only been three weeks since the wedding and she still could not face the thought of mingling with the rest of society who would be just as disapproving and scandalized as the vicar had been.

She could tell by Pax's voice that he dreaded her entry into society as much as she did. He was embarrassed by her, knowing she had brought shame and scandal to his name. All he wanted was to get it over with. But she couldn't do it. She would just tell him that she would not go. She would remain here at Windhaven and he could go back to his carefree life. Leslie turned to Aunt Nell, smiling as she surveyed yet another splendid outfit, this one predominantly purple silk veiling and pink fur tippets. She took the older woman's hand and cleared her throat several times before she was able to speak.

"Dear Aunt Nell, I can't---" Leslie faltered under the curious stare of the older woman. "You have been so very kind, dear madam."

"Nonsense, child. I have been thoroughly enjoying myself." Nell smiled warmly at the girl she had come to love. "But perhaps Pax is correct. It is time and enough to be off to London. Your clothes will be ready except for some minor fittings. It will be grand to be in the thick of things again."

"Please understand that in the beginning I thought all of this would work but it can't. I can't!" Leslie's last words were a cry from the heart.

"What do you mean, my dear? You've done splendidly!" Nell's voice was stout encouragement in the face of the young girl's worry.

"What Leslie is trying to tell you, Auntie, is that she has turned quite lily-livered," Pax drawled.

"I have not!" Leslie denied hotly. She sprang off the sofa, whirling to face her accuser. "It was a stupid idea to try to pawn me off as a Duchess! I don't want to be a Duchess! I never did. It was all your bloody idea."

"Tsk tsk, your Grace. And in the drawing room. Winters would be shocked to the core if he should hear his mistress uttering such gutter language." Pax lifted his quizzing glass to stare at the furious girl.

"Don't you mock me! You may have been able to force me to marry you but I don't have to listen to your sneering words any longer. I'm not going to London." Leslie ripped the lace mittens off her hands, wadding them into a ball in her agitation. She kicked at the hem of her dress in order to lengthen her stride as she paced across the room. "You can go back to your opera dancers and your gambling and your drinking. In fact you can go to blazes for all I care!"

She flung the mittens at Pax but they fell short, dropping in silent accusation to the carpet. In one stride Paxton swooped to retrieve the mittens then crossed to Leslie. His fingers bit into her wrist as he jerked her towards him and crammed the gloves into her opened palm. He glared down into her eyes, for a moment feeling as though he might drown in the frightened pools of blue. Knowing himself for a brute, he pushed her away.

"Your father should see you now. The Captain would disown you for a coward," Pax expostulated.

"I am not a coward!" Leslie screeched, rubbing her smarting wrist, still red from her husband's bruising grip.

"You're afraid to go to London. You're afraid you won't measure up," Pax accused, knowing exactly how she would react. "Don't go to London. Hide out here at Windhaven where it's safe."

"Don't you dare tell me what to do, you great gudgeon. I shall go to London if I want to. I'll be such a bloody fine Duchess that all those gossipmongers will eat their words." Leslie placed her small hand on Pax's chest pushing him out of her way. Her voice softened to a haughty stream of ice. "If you'll excuse me, your Grace. I have packing to do."

"I trust you can be ready by nine, Leslie," Pax goaded, following the angry girl out the door.

The quiet of the room was broken by a throaty chuckle from the forgotten occupant. A satisfied smile washed across the features of Nell's face. Such passion once unleashed might rearrange history, she thought. Or at the very least it would make it more interesting. If only the gratefully departed Earl could have shown some emotion perhaps her marriage might not have been so boring. An occasional sin or lapse from virtue added a certain spice to marriage. It was a wife's duty to forgive. But the most unforgivable thing was to have nothing to forgive.

Chapter Nine

The sound of horse hooves striking the cobblestones echoed the staccato beating of Leslie's heart. She tried to breathe deeply but felt pinched by the uncomfortable lacing of her undergarments. She sat perfectly straight, afraid to lean against the soft squabs of the carriage for fear of wrinkling her gown. Through a curtain of lashes she peeped across at Pax, wondering how he could look so completely at ease.