The Bargain Bride (26 page)

He was gone. Worse, he'd left while she was still bemused by his lovemaking, before she could explain.

He did not understand why she'd acted the termagant, why she'd almost begged him not to leave. West thought she feared the
ton,
like some foolish chit fresh out of the schoolroom, making her curtsies for the first time. Hah. She'd seen what a pack of snobbish sheep they were ages ago, when she'd first come to London. Then she'd been the fiancée of a second-son soldier, accepted in the outer circles of society only because of Lady Bainbridge and her father's fortune. Now she was a viscountess, welcomed with open arms as if she had become more interesting, more attractive, more one of the inner echelons. And she could not care less. Anyone who would not accept her for being a banker's daughter then was not worth knowing now.

She'd accomplished much in the short time they were in Town. She'd seen that West was proud of her and that women in London could be friends, both of which pleased her. She had not had a female friend of her own age in a long time, and welcomed invitations to charitable committees so she could continue her rewarding and worthwhile efforts. As for West, she had not wanted to shame him, and she had succeeded beyond her own expectations. No, she did not fear being a pariah in Polite Society. If no one spoke to her, she could go live at Westfield with her husband, raising her family, if he wanted her there. That way, even if he returned to London on occasion, she'd see him, be part of his life. He would never leave his horses for long.

He left, believing her a coward and believing she wanted to control his life with her money, her demands. He was wrong about that, too. She'd offered him her personal fortune, the one she had tied up in trust so tightly he could not have it without her say-so, because she wanted to make his life easier. Not to own him or dictate its use or make him feel like a supplicant. What was hers was his, once she'd given her heart and her body and her very soul, whether he knew that or not.

She thought about his angry accusations. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't wanting her own way in everything. She wasn't a shrew, at least she hoped not. What she was, was jealous, plain and simple, and she could never confess that to him. She was mortified to admit to that basest, most corrosive of emotions, even to herself. There it was, though, as green as the ugly fern with hairy roots like spider legs that her stepmother used as a centerpiece.

Penny pulled the covers over her chin, staring at the ceiling. How could she be jealous of a husband she never wanted to like, much less love, and not for the usual reasons, either? His previous women rankled, but they were in the past and Penny was in his bed. He seemed more than satisfied to have her there. But his horses . . . ah, she could never hope to compete with his horses. He loved them better than he would ever love her.

 

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
West held his latest hired horse to the fastest speed he could, pacing the gelding for the next posting house where he could change mounts. With few travelers on this stretch of the road, his mind kept repeating their argument. He tried to reconcile his needs with her needs, while his thoughts beat in tune to the steady rhythm of the hoofbeats. His need, her need, her knees. They had a little dimple and smooth skin, with a tiny scar from a childhood fall. The backs of her knees were particularly sensitive to his tongue. He'd memorized every inch of her, and the memory was driving him crazy. Damn, he needed to be his own man, not ache with needing her.

She did not understand, and he'd left without so much as trying to change her stubborn, thick-skulled sense of righteousness. Quite simply, a man had to be in charge or he was no man. Why, after a mere two nights of lovemaking, his innocent bride liked to be on top!

He had to smile, despite the road dust getting in his mouth. His wife was a strong-willed woman, and West told himself he admired that, but damn, he could not give up all he had worked for. He'd be nobody, nobody he respected, anyway, if he let her and her money rule his life. He might as well be her kept man, her hired escort, her underling in every sense of the word.

When his father and brother died, leaving him with debts, West had worked and fought and schemed to make something of Westfield, of himself. He'd given up soldiering, where he was respected and rising in command, to be a better viscount than his predecessors, to take better care of his people and the land they all called home. He could not give up the ground he'd gained. Besides, Penny had no respect for the idle aristocracy. So why, knowing he was working, earning his own living, was she upset when he honored his commitments, nurtured his investments, cared for the living creatures who depended on him, the same as her family depended on her?

His horse pounded down the road, while his thoughts pounded in his head. The mount was fresh, good until the next inn. His thoughts were not, his mood growing blacker and bleaker with every mile.

Penny would do fine in London society without him, whatever her fears. Her money and his title could sway all but the highest sticklers, but even those dragons would be won over by Penny's own personality and inner decency. She'd quickly learn that she did not require him at her side night and day. He told himself that was good, that he was glad, but, gads, what if she did not want him back?

She could insist on separate quarters, separate lives. With his title, he could not afford a scandal. With her money, she could afford as many houses as she wanted, without him in them. Damn.

At least he was certain she liked his lovemaking. No polite endurance for his Penny, no pretending, oh, no. Her enthusiasm for the sport was a surprise and a delight, but was that enough to keep her at his side? She never forgot the circumstances of their marriage, that he'd had to be forced into it, after years of avoidance and abandoning her. Jupiter, he half expected her to cry out “thirteen years” instead of “there, touch me there.”

Well, he had every right to be equally as angry. He'd been traded away for his connections, hadn't he? His older brother was expected to make the dynastic match, the grand union of two titled, propertied families. West had been the second son, meant to bring money back to the family coffers. If he'd had the choice, he'd have stayed a soldier, stayed a bachelor, stayed in the country with his horses. Now all he wanted to do was stay close to Penny. Damn, again.

 

Tick.
He did not understand.
Tock.
Maybe he would if she told him she loved him, but a woman couldn't be the first to say the words. West had to know she adored him, because she wanted him so badly, every second. But what if he was so irritated by her carping, he never came back? What if sex and the marriage vows he'd never wanted were the only things binding him to her?

Penny knew West could find another woman, a different one for each night of the week if he wished. She'd seen how females from seventeen to seventy looked at him with hunger in their eyes. She could feel it burning in hers every time he entered a room.

Besides, he'd only say that love and lovemaking were two separate things, although Penny could not imagine wanting any other man but West. Men were different, and dense.

Beyond sex, West had enough funds now that he did not have to return her dowry or pay for repairs to his house. He might even have his heir on the way. It was too soon to tell, but not for lack of trying. He did not need her for anything else. To welcome guests? To pick wallpaper? Select menus? His butler and housekeeper could do the jobs, and better than Penny, most likely. He'd never seen the need for a hostess before. What if he decided he did not need one now, especially a clinging, distempered crone? He could decide to stay in the country with his stables.

She was a fool. Penny bit her lip, remembering their argument. He'd have gone no matter what she said, and she knew that. If her love wasn't enough to keep him, nothing was. She wondered now whether her love was enough to bring him back.

She clenched the sheets in her hands, worrying that she'd given him a disgust of her. Then she dropped the sheets, reminded of poor Penelope weaving her cloth for Odysseus. That seemed to be the cursed role fate had dealt Penny, waiting for West, but she did not have half of Penelope's patience, no matter how close their names or their long waits. Weave an endless winding-sheet like a faithful little wife? Penny would wind his innards into India ink, as soon as she held him in her arms for infinity.

 

Clip.
She did not understand.
Clop.
He ought to be shot for not telling her, but a man couldn't be the one to say the words first, and not during sex for the first time. She'd think that was only his prick talking.

So he'd swallowed the ache and promised to return. His last words were a plea that she trust him. Why should she? He'd said he'd be at her elbow during the coming social season, and here he was, in the saddle. He'd sworn to honor his marriage vows, but his betrothal behavior spoke against him. Knowing Penny, she'd worry that he was going to tup every barmaid between London and Land's End. She'd fret he was gone forever, if she cared at all.

Damn, he should have told her he couldn't want another woman, not with her image so indelible in his mind, dimpled knee to pointed chin, funny pink toes to tousled gold curls, and every soft, silky inch between. He hadn't known for himself, hadn't comprehended the contentment, the pleasure, of having one woman, his woman. The idea that she might be carrying his babe was a joy like none in his life. The notion was more exciting than three mares foaling perfectly at once, more thrilling than one of his horses winning the steeplechase. Not that Penny would like the comparisons. She was not fond of horses, it appeared. Still, she seemed to enjoy the bliss of trying to make a baby well enough, well enough that he'd delayed leaving for an hour, which meant he'd be an hour later returning from what he had to do.

He should have told her he'd hurry, because he wanted only to come back to her arms. Promises and sweet words were easy to say, though, especially during sex, but only time would prove them. How long did trust take to build? Lud, he hoped faster than rebuilding a stable and paddocks. The poets said love could come suddenly or grow gradually, but that tender emotion was not enough. Without trust and respect, West believed, love would shrivel and die.

He urged the horse faster. He had no way to prove his honor, not when he was miles away. Penny did not understand that a man's word was his bond. Women seldom did.

 

Tick.
He left talking about trust, the dastard, not of love. What, did he think she would raise her skirts for the next rake she met? One was enough, she swore, for any woman. Furthermore, just because she'd succumbed to his practiced charms did not mean she was vulnerable to any passing fancy. She was a virtuous woman, by all that was holy, and he should have known that. He would have trusted her if he loved her. No one could have one without the other.

The gudgeon did trust her to ready his house, despite her threats to turn it into a seraglio, for all that was worth. She would live in his stupid stable to be with him. He did not understand. Men seldom did.

 

Clop.
He'd be thinking of her every second, building their future, while she was picking linens and lace.

 

Sigh.
He did not understand.

Sigh.
She did not understand.

More than miles separated them.

—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber

 

 

 

W
est
was
coming back. He had to be. If Penny truly believed he wasn't, she'd pack up all her belongings, her grandfather, and his dog, move back to Little Falls, and send Sir Gaspar and his second family to Satan. No, if she believed West really had left her, Penny decided, she'd ride after him, a pistol in one hand, a butcher knife in the other, and homicide in her heart.

Since he
was
going to return, Penny was going to be a good wife. She might have been a bothersome bride, but she was determined to be a perfect partner in the marriage. To that end, she spent a great deal of time spending a great deal of her father's money.

Her clothes came first. West liked her in pretty colors, in revealing gowns, as fashionable as other peers' wives. She took the unpacked yard goods to Madame Journet, who agreed the rainbow shot silk was perfect for Penny's first ball as hostess. She also agreed that the Entwhistle misses had to wear white, but she appeased them all with rosebud embroidery on Amelia's gown, and extra flounces on Mavis's. Since the charges were going on Penny's account, and since she could not step a foot inside Madame Journet's exclusive establishment without Persephone, Lady Goldwaite could not argue. In fact, she decided to have a nap instead of going along for the boring fittings where no one listened to her opinion anyway.

While Penny had the girls in tow, without their mother, she took them to the lending library, where Amelia was in heaven, and Mavis flirted with the clerk. She also took them on a few of the morning calls to Lady Bainbridge's friends and other ladies who had extended invitations, especially those with young daughters or sisters or cousins being presented this Season. Let her stepsisters see how proper females behaved, Penny planned, only to watch the other misses their ages act just as foolishly, some with the same giggles, some with the same shyness, some with less intelligence than an insect.