Too Wicked to Wed (20 page)

“The addition looks to be rather large. What is it meant for?

“The storage of wool.”

Alexa watched his brow knit in surprise.

“Wool,” he repeated softly.

Connor slowly thumbed through several more pages of notes, and she found herself watching the lithe movement of his hands and recalling their caresses along her thighs. She pressed her palms together, trying to ignore the tingle of heat between her legs. It was all the more unnerving in that she wasn’t sure whether she was angry…or aroused.

He paused at a sketch of a simple plaid rendered in colored chalk. “Isn’t this the same pattern as Hibbert’s scarf?”

“Actually, I made a few changes.” Observing his expression grow more questioning, she explained, “By simplifying the design, and eliminating one of the colors, it can be produced a bit more economically. You see, after discovering the herd of goats, I got to thinking and I…I have an idea on how the estate might be made into a profitable enterprise.”

“You seem to have given a great deal of thought to all this.”

A rush of heat burned the enthusiasm from her face. Did he think she had spun an elaborate snare to trap him in matrimony? It was impossible to tell whether his tone had a mocking edge, and as she looked up, she found that his expression was unreadable.

“They seem practical suggestions.” Closing the covers, Connor returned the sketchbook. “Why not go ahead and draft up a more detailed plan of what you have in mind, and the expenses it will entail.”

The coach gave another sharp lurch, throwing her back against the paneling. Suddenly feeling bruised, both in body and in spirit, Alexa clutched the dog-eared volume tightly to her chest. “Oh yes, why not? How very convenient to have acquired a new housekeeper, now that Mrs. Callaway is growing too frail to handle the daily chores.” The corners dug into her flesh, a sharp reminder of how uncertain she was of her role in his life. “I am rather surprised you didn’t leave me behind in the country, to polish and prune, while you go back to your wild affairs—”

Alexa bit down on her lip, horrified to hear herself sounding like a shrew. Dear God, was she already becoming a nagging wife?

“I am sorry if my words upset you,” said Connor quietly. “Indeed, I am sorry for…everything.”

No doubt he was, she thought, trying not to let any more maudlin sentiments spill forth.

“Despite what you may think, Alexa, I shall do my best to be a good husband to you.”

Because duty demanded it?
The thought left her feeling even more wretched.

His handkerchief feathered against her wet cheek. The gesture was gentle, but she found it a cold comfort. What she really craved was the heat of his hand to touch her, rather than a wad of linen, however soft.

“Damn,” she swore as tears began to stream down her face. “I
never
dissolve into such a watering pot.”

“I daresay you have never experienced quite the provocation as you have over the last several days,” he replied rather dryly. Taking the book from her grasp, he placed it on the seat and drew the carriage blanket around her waist. “No doubt you are tired. Try to get a bit of rest.”

“Stop treating me as if I were naught but a child!” she cried. “I am your wife, in case you have forgotten.”

The sliver of space between was barely wider than the breadth of Connor’s shoulders, but as their gazes met across it, the gap looked like a vast chasm, dark and unfathomable.

With all the errant stumbles she had made lately, Alexa found herself fearing she would never find a way to cross it.

“No, I have not forgotten,” he replied tightly.

Swiping her sleeve across her face, Alexa pulled herself back from the brink of despair. “And remember that I am still an equal partner in The Wolf’s Lair. We ought to discuss what sort of strategy you have in mind for taking care of business, once we reach London.”

“Strategy?” His mouth curled in rueful irony. “As I am as new at this game as you are, I haven’t much expertise to draw on. But it seems to me that before I can start looking for the enemy, we must first make certain basic moves—like establishing ourselves in respectable lodgings, and squashing any ugly rumors that may have arisen over your abrupt absence from Town.”

Alexa swallowed hard, realizing she hadn’t given a thought as to where they would live, or how they would face Polite Society. A square peg trying to wedge into a round hole—was she never to find a comfortable place in the world? As for how the earl must be feeling…forced to give up his bachelor quarters and dance attendance on the sort of prigs he loathed.

“I have ruined your life,” she whispered.

“Most people would say it is the other way around.” He looked out at the bleak moors and shrugged. “But there is little to be gained by railing against the cards we have been dealt. Let us try to play them as best we can.”

It was hardly a ringing endorsement of their marriage, but what more did she expect? She may have won his hand, but that did not mean she had any claim to his heart.

“Cameron has shown himself to be a bloody magician these last few weeks. Let us hope he has a few more miracles up his sleeve.” Connor essayed a faint smile. “I wrote to him with all the details of our imminent arrival. I trust he will have some practical suggestions.”

Alexa winced at the word “practical.” But mention of the earl’s erstwhile comrade reminded her of the urgent missive he had received. “Speaking of Mr. Daggett, you have yet to share what news has compelled you to rush back to London. Has he discovered the identity of your assailant?”

“Not yet,” answered Connor. “Several promising clues have come to light, and I intend it to be me, and not any of the others, who risks moving in for the final confrontation with the villain.” He hesitated for a fraction. “But that is not the only reason we are making this journey. Reputations, once ruined, are hard to repair. To quell any scandal, we must do the pretty and appear as couple in Society.”

“I thought you did not care what the
ton
thought of you.”

“I’ll not have you savaged by vicious gossip, ashamed to hold your head high in the ballrooms of the
beau monde
.”

There was a certain fire in his voice that kindled a spark of hope in her breast. Perhaps it was not merely duty speaking, but something else.

Pressing her eyes closed, she leaned back against the squabs, pretending the stubbling of his jaw was kissing her cheek and the heat of his mouth was warming her lips. For an instant, the fantasy was so real she could taste it.

“Try to get some sleep, Alexa,” murmured her husband.

This time, she made no objection as he began to tuck the blanket around her.

“God knows, we have a rough road ahead of us.”

“Allow me to offer a toast to your felicitous union.” After passing around glasses of sparkling wine, Cameron eyed the earl from over the rim of his own coupe. “It is 
prosecco
—from Italy.” Light from the candelabras spilled over the faceted crystal, setting the pale apricot color aglow. “I find it more playful on the palate than French champagne.”

Though in no mood to celebrate, Connor took a small sip. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. The taste was flat on his tongue.

Alexa’s hand wavered as she brought the drink to her lips. Standing off to the side, half hidden by an exuberant spill of pink roses, she looked so pale as to appear drained of all life.

“But then again,” murmured Cameron, “after such a long and tiring journey, perhaps you are not feeling quite up to cavorting in jolly little cartwheels across the carpet.”

“How observant, Cam,” he growled. “In fact, I was hoping we might get right down to the practical matters at hand. Alexa and I are both anxious to get settled in Town as quickly as possible.” Loath to ask more favors from a friend, Connor felt his jaw tighten. “Have you come up with any ideas?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. One that is an ideal arrangement when you think about it.” Cameron’s expression sobered as he set his drink aside. “I have made arrangements for you to stay at Sebastian’s townhouse.”

“But it’s been shut up for a number of years,” exclaimed Alexa. “Family finances didn’t permit the expense of keeping it open while Sebastian was abroad.”

“Yes, well it’s now been aired and staffed with servants who are both highly efficient and highly unobtrusive. So you needn’t concern yourself with any domestic matters.” He cleared his throat. “And the connection to your family, which implies their approval of the marriage, makes it a perfectly proper choice.”

An awkward silence filled the room.

“I trust that meets with your approval?”

Connor forced himself to nod. The last thing he wished was to accept charity from the Hendrie family. As it was, Sebastian would already be thinking he had taken advantage of Alexa. But there was no alternative.

“Excellent. I have already ordered your carriage to go on with your baggage to Half Moon Street.”

“I fear that was hardly necessary.” Alexa essayed a wan smile. “As you know, we did not have much to begin with.”

Cameron replied with a courtly bow. “My dear Lady A—or rather, K—I also took the liberty of sending around to your aunt’s residence and having all of your things moved to your new quarters.” Straightening, he turned to the earl. “And I stopped at The Wolf’s Lair and told O’Toole you were in need of some essentials. He has already dropped off a valise, so you should both be comfortable for the time being.”

His friend’s air of easy assurance set Connor’s teeth further on edge. He knew he should feel grateful—which only made it more difficult to growl out a civil reply.

Alexa shot him a look of reproach, but once again, Cameron stepped in to relieve the tension. Offering his arm to her, he turned for the entrance hall. “No doubt you are anxious to be off and settle in your new abode.”

Connor set down his glass and fell in step behind them, the echoing clink of crystal sounding more like funeral dirge than a joyous wedding march.

It was hardly an auspicious entry into married life.

Chapter Nineteen

A
crush of people paraded across the polished parquet—and every one of them appeared to be staring at him and his wife.

Connor cursed under his breath. He was well used to the glare of speculation, but he felt Alexa begin to wilt.

“Chin up,” he murmured, drawing her hand a bit tighter into the crook of his arm. She had moved unflinching through the receiving line, ignoring the looks and the whispers of the other guests. But now, as the intense scrutiny followed them into the ballroom, he could sense the effort was taking its toll.

“Trust me, a show of utter indifference will soon cause them to grow bored with us,” he went on. “All we have to do is go through the motions, acting as if there is no question as to our acceptance in Society. In another few days, they will find a new focus for their gossip.”

“Do we really have to attend any more of these dreadful affairs?” she asked in a small voice. “I feel as if I am one of the oddities on display at the Tower menagerie.”

His mouth quirked in sympathy as the musicians struck up a new set. “I’m afraid there is no getting around it. We must dance attendance on every hostess who tenders an invitation, and put our best foot forward.”

“Ha.” She moved smoothly through the first steps of the dance. “You know how little skill I have in such social graces. By the end of the week, your toes are likely to be black and blue.”

The earl chuckled softly. “Just follow my lead and I am sure we can dodge any disaster.”

And yet, as he ventured a quick glance around, he did not feel quite so confident. His own dutiful appearance by her side helped stamp out some of the nasty speculation over her sudden nuptials. But in order for Alexa to garner complete acceptance in Polite Society, she had to be seen dancing with other gentlemen of consequence.

However, he knew the lords and ladies of the
ton
all too well—beneath the polish and plumage they were sharks. At the first sign of weakness, they would circle in the water, keen to feast on the latest victim.

A surge of protectiveness coursed through him and Connor drew Alexa closer. He would be damned if he would allow them to savage his wife.

The trouble was, his own teeth had done a fair share of damage over the years. There were precious few gentlemen present who would feel inclined to do the Irish Wolfhound a favor.

He shifted his gaze, only meet the cold stare of a raven-haired marchioness dancing nearby.
Bloody hell.
It had been nearly a year since he had broken off the casual affair. Still, judging by the ice in the lady’s eyes, Alexa would find few allies among the females.

Connor was not quite sure where to turn. The music was fast coming to an end…

“I say, Killingworth, I will be deucedly disappointed if you have not saved me the next dance with your lovely bride.” Admiral Wendover, a well-respected naval man, stepped out from the milling crowd and bowed over Alexa’s hand. The movement revealed that Gryff—who just happened to be the man’s cousin by marriage—was standing at his shoulder, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

“Allow me to offer felicitations on your marriage, Lady Killingworth,” continued Wendover, a trifle louder than was necessary. “The Wolfhound is a lucky dog.”

“Thank you, Gryff,” murmured the earl, as Alexa and her new partner moved off to the first notes of a country gavotte.

The marquess nodded. “I ought to warn you, though—it may be some time before you may reclaim your wife’s hand. Anderson and Cantwell are next in line for a dance, with Farnam and Wentworth waiting in the wings.

An heir to a dukedom and a minister from Whitehall, followed by two well-respected peers of the realm.
In choreographing their tacit approval, Gryff had gone a long way to smoothing Alexa’s reentrance into Society. Even the highest sticklers would be hard pressed to find fault with the new countess.

Connor made a mental note to send his friend a case of the most expensive brandy he could lay his hands on…No—on second thought, he would make it a crate of Indian cheroots. Gryff’s newfound sobriety had his hearty approval.

“Let me find you some champagne,” offered his friend. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Left alone, Connor found his gaze straying to his wife.
Beauty and brains.
The combination was considered volatile in a lady. And yet, though sparks might fly and tempers might flare between them, the pyrotechnics lit up the darkness at his very core. His life without her would be like the dawn deprived of the sun.

Black. Cold.
Empty of all meaning.

She laughed at something Wendover said and Connor felt his chest constrict.

Her expression had been so solemn of late, her spirits so subdued. Guilt knotted his insides. Unsure of her feelings, he had kept his distance during the day and had avoided her bedchamber at night. It was better to suffer frustration than outright rejection. The crowd would no doubt find it vastly amusing that the fearsome Wolfhound was reduced to skulking around his borrowed lair with his tail between his legs.

But he was going to have to do something about the situation. And soon. His desire was growing more fierce with every passing hour…

“Your new bride looks to have spirit as well as looks.” Lord Turnbridge, a frequent patron of The Wolf’s Lair, had sidled up behind him. “Still, I would not have imagined a country chit could be clever enough to collar the Wolfhound.”

He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper leashed.

“But then again, her brother is a war hero, and his prowess with a saber is well known, hah, hah, ha.” Turnbridge flashed a knowing wink. “Given the choice between having my liver carved into fishbait or my cock caught in the parson’s mousetrap, I, too, would choose matrimony as the lesser of two evils.”

Connor looked around slowly. “You omitted a third alternative.” His voice was dangerously soft. “You can meet me at dawn and have your skull blown into a thousand bloody little pieces.”

The man’s head jerked back. “J-just a friendly j-jest. It was meant in good fun,” he stammered. “No need to take offense.”

“My wife’s honor is not a subject I find remotely amusing.”

“Yes…No.” Turnbridge edged back a step with each word. “That is to say, of course not.” Ducking behind a group of chattering matrons, he quickly disappeared into the crowd.

“Hell, can’t you be left alone for a moment in civilized surroundings without straying into trouble?” drawled Gryff as he returned with the wine.

“Damn it, I don’t go looking out trouble,” snapped Connor. “It seems to come looking for me.”

“You do seem to be attracting a rather violent interest in your person,” replied his friend. “Cam told me what happened as soon as I got back to Town. But I must say, you look none the worse for the experience.” Gryff fixed him with an appraising stare. “Indeed, country life seems to agree with you. You’ve come back with a spot of color in your face.” A pause. “Among other things.”

Connor felt his cheeks darken.

Gryff grinned and then left off his needling. “Still no idea who tried to put a period to your existence?”

“A few clues have turned up,” he answered. “One of the reasons I am in Town is to chase them down.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

Connor watched Alexa spin through the figures of a quadrille with her next partner. “You already have.” The words came out more curtly than he intended. Generosity from others was not something he had much experience in accepting.

“The tattlemongers are more bloodthirsty than Soult’s cavalry.” Gryff was also following Alexa’s progress across the dance floor. “And the first ones they look to attack is anyone who stands out in a crowd.”

His wife did that, thought Connor.
In spades.

Gryff lowered his voice a notch. “You are a lucky dog, Connor. Your wife is a special lady. I trust you will watch over her—and yourself.” The faint curl of his lips became more pronounced. “Only a bloody fool would risk breaking up such a unique—and potentially profitable—partnership.”

“You don’t mind leaving now?”

“No.” Alexa settled her hand on Connor’s sleeve, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath the soft wool. They had touched so little of late that even a fleeting brush of his arm was better than nothing at all.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said.

Something in his tone made her look up quickly. “I was. More than I imagined.” Was it only wishful thinking, or had she seen a flare of jealousy in his eyes? Ha! And next, she would be seeing a cow jump over the moon! If he wanted her, he had only to open the adjoining door to their bedchambers…

“You dance very well.”

“I believe my partners escaped with only two broken toes between them tonight,” she said lightly.

He laughed, his lips close enough to stir the tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. A slight shiver raced down her spine.

“Feeling chilled?”

“Tired,” she lied.

“The carriage is waiting to take you home.”

What she really wanted was for him to take her to his bed.

But she didn’t dare say it. Perhaps he felt trapped in a life he did not want. With a wife who bored him to perdition. After all, he had his pick of worldly women, who knew all the tricks of pleasing a man.

Of which there were a great many.

Alexa knew that because she had recently come across a small book tucked at the back of Sebastian’s desk. She had been searching for penknife, but when her fingers had brushed up against the crimson kidskin, she had been curious. Opening the covers, she had discovered it to be a graphic manual on the art of pleasure.

There was an old saying that a picture was worth a thousand words—maybe two thousand in this case, given the wealth of details shown. However, she had been rendered speechless as she perused the pages. And not a little intrigued. Paper and ink, however colorful, was no substitute for actual experience.

But it was naive as to think the Wolfhound might find her as alluring as his past lovers.

Grateful that the darkness helped hide her quivering lip, Alexa stepped out into the night. Connor found their barouche among the crush of carriages and helped her inside. A stab of disappointment once again cut though her as he chose the seat opposite hers, rather than a more intimate position.

Why, oh, why didn’t he simply send her back to Linsley Close if he did not want her around? At least in the country she knew how to be useful.

Connor reached out to straighten the folds of her cloak. Suddenly unable to bear his casual touch, she jerked away, mortified to find her eyes stinging with salt.

“Alexa?” He switched seats and drew her into the circle of his arms.

She buried her face in his collar, breathing in a scent that was now achingly familiar. Starched linen, smoky cologne, essence of…wolf. The tears suddenly spilled over, hot and heavy as her fingers clutched at his cravat, holding it tight. She would
not
let go of him. Not without a fight.

Connor feathered his lips against her hair. He tilted her face so they touched her forehead, then slid down her wet cheek.

Reaching up, Alexa traced the chiseled curve of his chin. In the flickering lamplight, he looked so austere, so aloof. She felt her hand tremble.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Damn him!
She didn’t want him to be sorry.

“There won’t be many more nights like this to endure,” he went on. “Once we have appeared in public together enough to forestall any ugly rumors concerning the match, we may avoid any further obligations.”

Nor did she want him to speak so dispassionately about duty. Steadying her nerve, Alexa slid her hand between the fastenings of his shirt, ruffling the coarse curls peppering his chest. She felt him hold his breath for an instant, then release it in a rasp of air. Her palm skimmed over the contours of corded muscle, coming to rest over his heart.

The thud of his pulse shuddered against her flesh.

“Alexa.” Connor’s voice no longer sounded so distant or so detached. A rumbled groan filled her ear as he shifted against the squabs and swung a booted leg over her skirts. His mouth slanted across hers and Alexa tasted the hot spice of wine. Her tongue licked out, seeking a deeper draught.

He kissed her again, and she grasped the soft linen, pulling him close, wanting more.
More.
Twisting, she hitched a knee over his, tangling wool and silk as she dragged him down. Her heart was beating wildly, its thud echoing the quickening rasp of his breathing. With a soft moan, she arched her hips and pushed against him.
Urgent, insistent.

He was half on top of her, cupping her breasts when the coach lurched to a sudden stop. Swearing, Connor recovered his balance and fell back against the squabs.

Alexa, too, felt like crying out an oath. Righting herself, she saw him reach beneath the seat for a bundle of clothing. As he shook free the knots, a nondescript overcoat and battered hat materialized from the shadows.

“What—” she began.

His expression already hidden by the upturned collar and angled brim, the earl edged for the door. “I must go out.”

To where?
She bit back the question, hard enough to taste blood. Was he seeking friends as well as foes in his old haunts?

The latch rattled and a cloaked figure climbed into the coach.

“Cam will see you safely home,” said Connor. He lingered only long enough for his friend to pass over a note, then dropped down to the cobblestones.

Cameron settled into the vacant space with a jaunty little salute. “Good evening, countess.”

It took Alexa a moment to wrest her eyes from the window, though the earl’s form had already been swallowed in a swirl of fog.
How very absurd she must appear.
A married lady mooning after her new husband as if she were naught but a silly schoolgirl. That she couldn’t put a name to her longing only added to her confusion.

Cameron cocked his head. “Settling comfortably into your new life?”