The Ugly Duckling Debutante_FINAL-3 (22 page)

But then again, this marriage was after all a farce was it not? If he took that part of her, there would be no way for her to gain an annulment, then again, she could still get one, but it would kill whatever part of Nicholas’s heart he had left. Was it possible for two people to share passion but not give to one another part of their hearts and souls? The sound of Sara’s rich laugh jolted him from his thoughts, and he decided he didn’t care.
Blast it all!
he thought as Lady Fenton inclined her head to him.

“Did you not hear me, Lord Renwick?” she asked coyly.

No, of course he didn’t hear her because in that same moment his eyes had been drawn to the curve of Sara’s body under her dress. He was too busy fantasizing about what his hand would feel like running down Sara’s bare back when his cousin had made the unfortunate mistake of addressing him.

He cleared his throat. “Of course, Lady Fenton.”

“Interesting,” she said putting her napkin down on her lap. “I thought you, of all people, would be upset to hear that Sir Belverd died last night.”

“What!?” he exclaimed, raising his voice higher than he intended.

“I’m only proving a point. He’s fine, I’m sure. I knew you weren’t listening; it’s easy to read your true thoughts since you’ve been wearing them shamelessly on your sleeve for the past hour. Go. Take my niece and have your celebration.”

He licked his lips and took a breath to say something, but for the first time in his life—well, that was a lie… for the second, third, fourth—he had easily lost track. He didn’t care if the whole of London watched him whisk his wife away, and whisk he did, even though propriety demanded they stay at the breakfast for at least another hour. They said their goodbyes. He hardly noticed Lady Fenton’s amused smile as he rushed Sara into the carriage.

“My turn,” he whispered in her ear and lifted her into the carriage. Her face burned an innocent but beautiful crimson as she averted her eyes from his.

It was with great restraint Nicholas sat opposite his wife during the carriage ride to his house, and if he was being brutally honest with himself—which he had endeavored to be over the past few weeks—he was a bit frightened about overpowering her with his lustful tendencies. The air in the carriage seemed to choke him while he thought about all of the events about to take place.

Yes, he had the reputation of a rake, but people must know most reputations were hardly built on stable fact. Nicholas had taken a few mistresses over the years, but for the most part, it had been easy. He hadn’t loved any but one, and considering how badly that relationship ended, he hadn’t been inclined to enter into one since. All in all, he felt like a boy on his first date. How was he to act? What was he to do? On the outside he appeared much the confident doting husband, but his insides felt like jelly. He wanted every moment spent with Sara to be perfect for her.

Could a reformed rake forget himself and think only of his wife's pleasure? The thought had been haunting him the entire ride back. If Sara was nervous, she didn’t show it. She chattered about the weather, the flowers, the scenery, so much gibberish, in fact, Nicholas was faintly reminded of Lady Fenton.

Then it hit him. She was petrified. Only when Sara was truly out of her element did she jabber on as if the world would crash down around them without her every spoken word to keep it holding firm in place. The thought comforted him more than he realized, and when they pulled up to his house, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He had said he would
woo
, and
woo
he would. First, she needed to see all the changes he made to her room, the room that would be adjoining his own. He took a slight gamble in hopes she would one day join him in his room, and maybe, just maybe she would forget about his inability to give her his heart and stay with him anyway. A man could dream, and he was holding onto that dream for dear life.

What does one do with one's wife when he knows she could at any time annul their marriage? At least he was needed, he told himself. Without him she would have no fortune, no money of her own. At least he could help her take care of her family and offer her enough funds to secure her finances. He hadn’t noticed how skinny and haggard she must have appeared at their first meeting. Although beautiful then, now she looked extraordinary. London had been good to her, which was odd; usually the country was good for Londoners.

Chapter Seventeen

His wife stifled a yawn and put her hand lazily into Nicholas’s as she disembarked the carriage. It felt as if they had done nothing all day except get in and out of the blasted thing; he was ready to be done. In fact, he was ready to lock her away in his house—actually, his bedroom sounded even better. He smiled tensely at his butler, who merely rolled his eyes. Nicholas really did need to find better help, or at least help which would
try
to conceal their always-condescending opinions. His butler had, in fact, been around for nearly all Nicholas's life. Giles had to be close to eighty years old. He was more of a grandfather figure than Nicholas wanted to admit, so he easily saw through the young earl's cool façade with a single glance. Nicholas raised an eyebrow back as a challenge; but his butler simply chuckled and walked away.

“Where is the rest of the staff?” Sara whispered next to him.

“I dismissed them early today. I wanted to serve you, not have you be served by those who serve me.” He hoped for her to get the point. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about her.

She looked somewhat panicked, which he hoped had more to do with nerves and less to do with being alone with him. He gently led her up the staircase and into the chambers, though it was early in the afternoon. Her small hand trembled on his arm, and she probably assumed he wanted to take her right now. She was in for a great surprise if she believed that to be the case.

“In you go.” He opened the door to her chamber and smiled when he heard her gasp of approval.

“Is this mine?” she asked breathlessly. She paced around the room excitedly, gazing through the large window and picking up delicate flowers off the bed.

“It’s all yours. I wanted you to have a room of your own, where you felt special.” He was mentally patting himself on the back until he saw the glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. He panicked. “But, if you follow me you’ll see what else I have in store for you.”

He sounded like a bloody tour guide; he wanted to throw a drink in his own face for his obvious display of nerves.

“The rooms adjoin, so mine is just through here.” He led her into his masculine bed chamber. While her chamber was filled with beautiful earth tone colors which he hoped would remind her of the country, his chamber was arrayed in blues and blacks, enough to make any bachelor want to set up camp and never leave again.

She smiled. “It suits you.”

“I’m assuming you mean that as a compliment?” He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed.

She shrugged her shoulders, leaving him in more suspense than he would have liked to admit.

“Are you hungry, Sara?”

Sara bit her lip and avoided his eyes. “I’m embarrassed to say yes, but so many people were talking to me during the breakfast I hardly had time to eat anything at all.”

He had figured as much. Granted, Nicholas hadn’t eaten for entirely different reasons. He was so busy lusting after his wife, he actually paid no heed to anyone, which Lady Fenton had proudly pointed out. “I’ve packed us a picnic,” he said, taking her hand.

“Really?” She brightened up immediately. Heavens above, if that was all it took, he would pack a picnic every day.

“Really,” he confirmed, kissing her hand. “If you’ll just follow me, Lady Renwick, we’ll see if all is ready for us outside.”

“Outside?” she asked warily.

“Would you rather stay indoors?” He stopped in his tracks. Why was this woman, whom he had thought he knew, suddenly such a stranger?

“Um no, no. That’s quite fine. Let’s go outside.” She brushed past him, leaving him staring after her as if someone he didn’t recognize as being his wife. Marriage must do some odd things to women’s nerves.

Normally conversation flowed easily between the two of them, but now it was like pulling teeth. Was she that reserved? He thought she accepted him for what and who he was; now he wasn’t so sure. Why was it that once he was committed to someone, the doubt multiplied rather than diminished? Nicholas shook his head and led her outside to his lavish garden; remembering her love of wildflowers he took her to the field where a basket was already set up.

She ran to it, which was so incredibly like her that it made him chuckle. In seconds, her shoes were off and flying through the air. Her hair, once done in ornate fashion, was hanging all the way down to her shoulders. She looked like a magical fairy princess. And for some reason he didn’t feel like the savior in the story, but the one being saved. He was the black knight stealing the young innocent bride. He needed to restrain himself; he
must
restrain himself.

Reminding himself of the many reasons for restraint, the walk to meet up with Sara was slow and steady. It was difficult to wipe the silly grin off his face as he watched his personal fairy princess dance in the wildflowers. What would it feel like to be so free? Sitting on the blanket covering the long flowers, he sighed. The colors of white, pink, and purple made Sara’s dress look even more spectacular. He waited a few minutes until she joined him, breathless.

She pulled a flower out of her hair. “This is perfect.”

“I thought you might like it,” he said warmly. “Why don’t we have some lunch and take a nap? I know it’s been a long day for you already.”

Disappointment flashed in her eyes again, but she quickly turned away and lifted a loaf of bread from the basket. What had he done wrong? If she only knew how challenging it was for him just to stay on his side of the blanket. He would never understand women.

They broke the bread and dipped it in oil. “I was half-starved,” Sara murmured. She lay across the blanket seductively. The curve of hips glistened in the afternoon sun. Nicholas tried to speak, but the bread felt solid in his throat. He choked and reached for something to drink.

“Are you all right?” She sat up suddenly.

“Perfect,” he answered, voice raspy. “Something just caught in my throat.” His gaze burned into the inviting angle of her body. God was surely punishing him.

Chapter Eighteen

Sara could do nothing more except throw herself at her new husband. What more did he want? Weren’t they to be married like a real married couple? Did he no longer desire her in that way? She had been so excited about the carriage ride because he kissed her so passionately, now he seemed to be paying more attention to his wine than to her. If he didn’t slow down he would pass out on her before the sun even went down, unless that was his goal all along.

She took her hair down, knowing he loved to see it flow freely around her shoulders She had even done her best to lie across the blanket in a way that brought special attention to the curve of her body; instead he looked away as if angry.

“Nicholas?” she asked coyly.

His gaze was brooding at best; he actually looked upset rather than excited to be sharing a picnic with her.

“Yes?” His eyes darted back to the food.

“Do you think we could take a nap out on the field rather than inside?” She scooted closer to him, allowing her scent to permeate the tight bubble he had around his person.

“Uh…”

“Then we can go inside later?”

“Sure.” His voice sounded unsure, but he’d agreed, which was exactly what she wanted. She hadn’t planned on trying to seduce her husband, and frankly she didn’t really know how. All she knew was that for some reason he was being an idiot, and she, being the female, needed to remedy the situation.