To Tame a Highland Earl (35 page)

“
Indeed, you
did.”

She addressed her father. “If Lord Rushton
and I are married, why are we here?”

“
It is best you sign the
marriage contract and that the Registrar witness and record the
marriage,” he replied.

“
As we are already man and
wife, this could have waited until a more reasonable hour,” she
said with asperity. Erroll barked a laugh and she shot him a
recriminating look, then demanded, “Where are the
papers?”

Erroll’s father rose and retrieved the
documents from the desk in the corner. He brought them, along with
a pen and book.

“
Please sit down,” he told
her.

She sat on the couch and signed each document
as instructed. “I assume you saw to everything in the contract,
Papa?”

“
I did.”

“
Then I need not worry for
an instant.” She signed the contract with a flourish that told
Erroll the wedding night might not be all that smooth, then laid
the pen on top of the document, and the marquess took everything to
Erroll, who did the same.

“
Is it official?” Erroll’s
mother asked the Registrar, once Erroll had signed the last paper
and the marquess had handed him the documents.

The Registrar flipped through the papers,
signed one sheet, then looked at her. “It is, my lady. You have
Lord and Lady Rushton.”

Erroll glimpsed the flicker of panic in his
new wife’s eyes. He didn’t blame her. Any woman of character would
react with shock at hearing herself called by his name—one very
good reason he had so determinedly avoided the ladies who had
decided they wanted the title: lack of character.

His mother took Eve’s hand in hers. “We
welcome you to the family. We will plan a party for the day after
tomorrow.”

“
Do not put yourself to any
bother,” Eve said.

“
A party is never trouble
for Mother,” Erroll said.

“
Indeed not,” she said. “I
adore parties. However, that is for us to worry about tomorrow. It
is still the wee hours of the morning, and I think everyone would
do well to retire.”

“
Thank you,” Eve said. “It
has been a trying day.” She rose and everyone followed
suit.

Her father came to her and grasped her
shoulders. “I know this is not what either of us planned, but you
could have done far worse.”

Erroll wondered if Tolland was thinking that
Eve could have ended up married to Lord Blane, who Erroll had heard
was so deep in gambling debts that it was expected he would turn up
dead or disappear on a ship bound for Australia.

Tolland hugged his daughter and stepped back
as Grace Crenshaw offered what appeared to be sincere
congratulations. Eve accepted all this with polite acquiescence,
then allowed Somerset to bow over her hand as he congratulated
her.

“
I will show you to your
room,” his mother said at last.

“
Thank you, but I can find
my way,” Eve said.

“
No, my dear. We have one
of the private suites ready for you and Erroll.”

Eve’s mouth parted in surprise and for an
instant Erroll feared she would cry. He started toward her, but his
mother pulled her into a hug and Erroll halted as he glimpsed the
shock on Eve’s face. To his surprise, she hugged his mother
fiercely, then seemed to recall herself and stepped back.

“
I am ready.”

Erroll was caught between wanting to laugh
and the dawning comprehension that he was married, without so much
as a kiss or a drink to herald the event. He was also struck with
the realization that the next woman he made love to would be his
wife. By God, was he ready? 

Chapter Eighteen

Eve walked beside Lady Rushton as if in a
dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare. How bad was the situation? She
was married to a man she barely knew, but, heaven help her, she had
fallen in love with. His long list of paramours indicated that many
women were affected in the same manner—and no doubt many more would
be added to his conquests. And that, she realized with painful
intensity, was the problem. Well, one of the problems. She wanted
him, and he’d made it clear he wanted her. But that was where it
always ended for him.

She and the marchioness climbed the stairs to
another story and through a labyrinth of hallways that left Eve
dizzy. At last Lady Rushton stopped in front of a room and opened
the door. She entered first and Eve followed.

“
This is the parlor,” the
marchioness said. A fire burned in the hearth, and the room was
furnished with two couches, two chairs, a small desk and sideboard
stocked with liquor. She crossed to a door on the left and entered
the room. “This is the master bedroom, with the lady’s room here.”
She walked past a massive four-poster bed to another door and Eve
followed into a smaller, but just as lavishly furnished, room. The
burgundy quilt had been turned back on the bed and a settee was
located in front of the crackling hearth fire. “There is a tub
behind the screen there.” The marchioness pointed to the left
corner near the hearth, where stood a magnificent painted Chinese
screen with gilded leather. An ornate pedestal work table with a
silk workbag sat against the wall to the left of the
bed.

“
This is too much, ma’am,”
Eve said.

She laughed. “Not at all. The suite is
perfect for you and Erroll. You are welcome to stay as long as you
like.”

How long would that be? Would Lord Rushton
keep his promise and not abandon her in Scotland, or would they
rush back to
Town
with all its traps and distractions? Which
would be worse, staying here alone, or being with him where she was
bound to encounter the women he kept?

Eve caught sight of a nightdress draped
across the chair nearest the bed and realized the garment had been
laid out for her. Her stomach somersaulted. How was she going to
get through the night? Her mind flashed back to her encounter with
Lord Rushton in the alcove half an hour ago and knew very well how
she was going to get through the night.

At the sound of a knock on her bedchamber
door, Eve looked up from the floor and shifted on the edge of the
mattress where she sat. “Come in.”

The door opened and Lord Rushton entered. To
her surprise, he hadn’t changed into a robe—under which she had
expected him to be naked—but wore the breeches and white shirt he’d
worn in the library. Eve recalled the marchioness telling her that
the marquess had been sensitive to her fears during their wedding
night—though Eve suddenly wished she had asked exactly what that
meant—and said, “Did your mother have a talk with you?”

A smile twitched the corner of his mouth.
“Was she supposed to have a talk with me?”

Eve shook her head. “No. But your attire
makes me wonder.”

He closed the door and crossed to the bed. “I
am not certain what that means.”

“
It means, my lord, that I
am wondering why you are dressed. Do grooms not generally greet
their new brides naked?”

Surprise—and was that delight?—flickered in
his eyes. “If you are that anxious, I can oblige.” He tugged his
shirttails from the waistband of his britches.

“
Do men use any excuse to
get their clothes off while in the presence of a woman?” Eve
asked.

“
We need little
encouragement.” He dropped the shirttail, but didn’t unbutton the
shirt. “A wedding night needs no excuses. You gave me the
impression you were receptive.”

“
I asked a simple
question,” she replied.

“
Would you rather I spent
the night in my room?”

Why not, she wondered? He would doubtless
spend most of his nights in his own room—after returning home from
his mistress’ bed. But she said, “You implied that your husbandly
duties would make marriage to you worthwhile.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, he
looked nonplussed, and Eve couldn’t help laughing.

He frowned. “I didn’t quite put it that
way.”

“
My lord,” she said through
a hiccup of nervous laughter, “have I trod upon your masculine
sensibilities?”

“
I do not have masculine
sensibilities.”

He actually sounded offended. Eve recalled
Grace saying that she had wounded his pride. “But you do, and I
have trampled upon them.”

His eyes narrowed. “If it is masculine
sensibilities you want, then it is masculine sensibilities you
shall have.” He reached for her, but she scooted back on the bed
before he could grab her. Lord Rushton straightened, a gleam in his
eye. “Would you like a game of chase in the bargain?”

He began a slow walk around the foot of the
bed, then abruptly dove for her. Eve squealed and leapt from the
bed. He landed, face down on the mattress where she’d been, then
rolled from the bed onto his feet and advanced on her. Eve
retreated until her calves bumped into something. She jumped aside
and the worktable she’d bumped into fell onto its side. The top
fell off, and a chessboard inside struck the carpet.

“
Oh dear,” Eve
cried.

She dropped to her knees and picked up the
chessboard. An instant later, Lord Rushton knelt beside her and
grasped her arms.

Eve twisted in an effort to break free. “Let
me go.”

“
No.”

She snapped her head up and looked into his
eyes. She suddenly felt weak as a kitten. This feeling, she
decided, was going to be her undoing—and Lord Rushton knew it, and
would relish her downfall.

She gave him a critical look. “If you think
I’ll melt every time you look at me like that, you have quite
another thing coming, my lord.”

“
Do I, indeed?” he said. “I
am a groom who has yet to be kissed by his wife.”

“
You have kissed me on
several occasions.” The memory of those most recent kisses in the
hallway alcove sent butterflies skimming across the insides of her
stomach.

“
But you were not my wife
and, in fact, madam, you have never kissed me.”

“
If our families had given
us a proper wedding, you would not have this complaint,” she
said.

“
I know how to solve the
problem,” he drawled.

Eve knew exactly what he meant. She dropped
the chessboard, seized his shoulders, and kissed him—hard. When she
pulled back, there was an audible smacking sound.

Lord Rushton stared and Eve started to fear
she’d displeased him. Then he said, “That was very nice.”

“
Thank you.”

He blinked in obvious surprise. “Thank
you?”

“
Thank you, my lord?” she
tried.

His mouth twisted into a wry grin.
“Apparently, I am losing my touch.”

Eve snorted. “Hardly.” She pulled free of his
hold and righted the table, then picked up the chessboard. She
caught sight of the backgammon board on its side inside the table.
“Do you play backgammon, sir?”

“
I played when I was
young.”

Eve heard the bemused note in his voice.
Discussing backgammon was probably the last thing a rakehell like
Lord Rushton thought he would be doing on his wedding night. The
truth was, she was torn between kissing him again and wanting to
run as far from him as she could.

“
I loved to play when I was
young,” she said.

“
If I had courted you
properly, would we have played backgammon?”

Eve looked at him and frowned. “That is an
odd question.”

“
This is an odd situation,”
he replied.

“
Many people marry as
strangers.”

“
True. But those are
usually arranged marriages. The average couple generally has some
mutual knowledge of one another beforehand. No one I know marries
as a result of mistaken identity and a kidnapping to Gretna.” He
rose and extended a hand to her. “Shall we begin?”

“
Begin?”

“
A courtship.”

She shook her head. “One game of backgammon
does not constitute a courtship.”

“
No, but it is a start.
Come along.”

He smiled gently, his hand still extended,
and Eve found herself placing her hand in his. Moments later, they
sat on the floor in front of the hearth with the backgammon board
and pieces in their starting positions between them. A decanter of
brandy and two glasses were arranged beside the board.

He filled both glasses, then gave her one and
took a healthy swig from his. “Drink a bit. It will warm you.”

Eve recalled Grace saying that one of his
faults was that he drank a lot. “You say that often,” she said.

He laughed. “Because it is true. Have a sip,
then you roll first.”

She took a small sip, then tucked her knees
to her side and braced the palm of her free hand on the carpet as
she rolled. Eve moved her pieces, then he rolled and moved as she
sipped her brandy. Of course, he was right, the liquid warmed her
throat and belly, and she began to relax. She rolled again, and
moved her pieces.

“
You are in luck,” he said.
“So far you’re able to protect your pieces.”

Eve wasn’t sure how lucky he was, especially
when he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirtsleeves and rolled them up
to reveal lean, tanned forearms. She wanted to look away, but was
afraid he would notice her discomfiture.

She took a gulp of the brandy. “You grew up
here in Ravenhall?”

“
I did.” He rolled the
dice.

“
It must have been
wonderful.”

“
I have many fond
memories,” he replied. “Tomorrow, if you like, I’ll show you some
of the grounds.”