A Marriage of Rogues Page 3

  He didn’t bother to defend himself, in part because she was right. Although he wasn’t extravagant, he rarely paid attention to the cost of his clothes. “After we’re married, you’ll need better garments as soon as possible.”

  “I quite agree,” she said. “Will you expect to oversee the selection?”

  “I can think of nothing more boring.”

  She nodded, then went back to looking out the window.

  He slumped against the squabs and closed his eyes. If she didn’t wish to speak to him, so be it. Indeed he should welcome the silence broken only by the rhythmic thudding of the horses’ hooves as they galloped along the road.

  And he should use the time to once again try to decide if he was doing the right thing, he thought drowsily. It wasn’t too late to change his mind.

  Perhaps he should, perhaps he should, perhaps...

  * * *

  Thea awoke from a restless doze and rotated her stiff neck. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep in the carriage. She’d nodded off some time after Sir Develin had. A quick glance showed he was still sleeping on the seat across from her.

  She studied the face of the man she was going to marry. Sir Develin was almost thirty, but he looked much younger when he was asleep, especially with that lock of dark hair hanging over his brow.

  As for the rest of him, he was broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, tall and as well dressed as she was not. No wonder he was so popular with the ladies.

  She looked down at her pelisse. He was right, of course. It was terribly ugly and she hated wearing it, but what else could she do when her choice was buy cheap and homely fabric or go without food? She would welcome a new wardrobe more than he could ever know, and she was doubly glad to think he would let her choose it.

  She was wondering how much she would have to spend when the carriage rattled to a halt and the coachman called out, “Gretna Green!”

  The baronet awoke with a start and looked confused for a moment before he brushed the lock of hair off his forehead and said, “There already?”

  “You’ve been asleep.”

  “Oh,” he said with a yawn as the coachman opened the door, revealing a cobbled and busy inn yard. Beyond, the large main building of the inn, half-timbered and covered with ivy, looked comfortable and prosperous.

  Sir Develin jumped out with the same alacrity as before, then reached up to help her disembark. He was regarding her so gravely she feared he was going to tell her he was going back to Dundrake Hall and leaving her there.

  She hadn’t come that far, hadn’t made that presumptuous proposal, to be thwarted now.

  Her lips pressed together with determination, she put her hand in his and, ignoring the sudden rush of heat that action prompted, stepped down. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she immediately left Sir Develin and approached the nearest servant, a stable boy carrying a basket of oats, and asked, “Where is the smithy?”

  She hadn’t only learned all she could about Sir Develin before going to Dundrake Hall; she’d made sure she understood how and where marriages were conducted in Gretna Green.

  The lad grinned, revealing a gap where one of his front teeth should be. “Out the gate, turn right, can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder at Sir Develin, who had stayed near the carriage. “Shall we?”

  He didn’t immediately reply and she held her breath, waiting with anxious anticipation for him to either speak or move.

  “Yes, we shall,” he said at last.

  * * *

  In later years, Thea remembered very little of the actual marriage ceremony, in part because there was very little to remember. A few words spoken over an anvil by a large, potbellied man who, she suspected, did no actual smithing, with a witness who seemed half in his cups. Afterward they returned to the inn, where she was shown to what would be their nuptial chamber.

  It was an unexpectedly large room, with whitewashed walls, a sloped ceiling and casement windows. A large, four-poster bed with clean-looking blankets and woolen bed curtains dominated the room, which also contained a washstand with an unexpectedly pretty porcelain basin and ewer, as well as plenty of fresh linen. There was a high-backed wooden chair in the corner opposite the door, a worn carpet on the floor and a folding screen in the corner. A fire had been kindled in the small hearth, making the room pleasantly warm. She also noted two valises by the bed, a large and very fine one that must be Sir Develin’s and her own small and shabby one.

  The slender, gray-haired landlady suggested a bath, and Thea eagerly agreed. It was a bit awkward when the landlady inquired about her maid; fortunately Thea had a ready answer for that, too. “I don’t have one traveling with me today. I can manage on my own for one night.”

  “Especially on your wedding night, eh?” the woman said with a grin before she left the room.

  Thea barely had time to catch her breath—or so it seemed—when a brisk rap sounded on the door heralding the arrival of two servants. A red-haired lad in homespun breeches and jacket and white linen shirt carried a tin bath, and a slender young woman in a simple calico dress and clean white apron held two large pitchers of steaming water. She also had more fresh linen over her arm. The boy set the bath down with a bang near the hearth and moved the screen to shield it from the door and drafts before he departed with a tug of his forelock. Meanwhile, the serving girl began to fill the tub with water from the pitchers.

  “There’s soap over there,” she said, nodding at the washstand on the far side of the room, opposite the bed that Thea was determined to ignore for as long as she could. “I’ll bring a pitcher of cold,” she added.

  “Thank you,” Thea murmured.

  “Which one is yours?” the girl asked with a friendly smile as she picked up the pitchers. “The skinny fella?”

  “My husband, you mean?”

  “Aye, which one’s yours, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

  If he had been “the skinny fella,” Thea might have minded. As it was, she felt a sudden rush of proud triumph before she said, “The handsome one.”

  Her delight lasted only another moment, for the girl frowned, ran a doubting gaze over Thea, then shrugged and headed out the door.

  Thea went to the mirror hanging over the washstand. Was it really so incredible that a man like Sir Develin...?

  She drew up her hair and turned her head from side to side. No, she was no aristocratic beauty and never would be. Her eyes were too large, her lips too full and her chin too pointed. At least her nose was good, but a man like Sir Develin would surely have preferred a woman with more to recommend her than a shapely nose and not too plump a figure.

  Nothing could be done about her features, she thought with a sigh as she began to take off her clothes.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, wearing only her thin cambric chemise and petticoat. The next time she was so attired and only so attired, she would be with a man. Sir Develin. Her husband. And shortly after that...

  She quickly doffed her undergarments and stepped gingerly into the tub. It was hot, but bearable, and she began to splash water over her face. Another knock sounded on the door—the serving girl with the cold water, no doubt. Her eyes still closed, she called out for her to enter.

  “I don’t need any cold water, thank you,” she said, reaching for a square of linen with which to wipe her eyes.

  “Good, because I didn’t bring any,” Sir Develin said.

  With a little shriek, Thea dropped the small square of linen and reached out to grab a larger one to cover herself, nearly upsetting the tub in her haste. “What are you doing here?”

  “The innkeeper’s good wife has made it clear that she expects me to share the tub with my bride,” he replied, sounding as if he was completely at ease.

  “A
fter I’ve finished!” Thea declared, for once unable to hide her perturbation as she tried to stand and wrap the towel around herself at the same time.

  “There’s no need for you to cut your bath short. I can wait.”

  “I’m finished.” She suddenly realized all her clothes were on the other side of the screen, where he was.

  “I suppose two won’t fit even if I was welcome.”

  “No. Now please leave the room.”

  “Don’t you think that would look a bit odd? We are newlyweds, after all.”

  He was, unfortunately, right. “Then please get my underclothes and dress. Hang them over the top of the screen,” she added, lest he come around it.

  “I didn’t expect you to be so bashful.”

  What had he expected? That she would throw herself, naked, into his arms? “Will you please do as I ask?”

  Much to her relief, he did.

  “Not quite where I’d envisioned spending my wedding night,” he mused aloud while she hurried into her clothes.

  She swallowed hard and felt the heat of a blush color her face, and other warmth spreading through her body. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t agree to her proposal to imagine the wedding night, at least until she’d returned to the inn in Dundrake. Last night she’d scarcely been able to avoid thinking about it. Now, when it was imminent, she was torn between curiosity, dismay and a longing that she could hardly describe; in other words, she was the opposite of calm and composed, while her husband apparently didn’t find this situation at all out of the ordinary.

  “I always thought it would be Dundrake Hall or my town house in London.”

  She was immediately glad they were here rather than his ancestral home or town house staffed by his servants. It was humbling enough knowing he had more experience between the sheets. If they were in one of his homes tonight, she would feel completely out of her depth in more ways than she already was.

  There was another knock at the door. That must be the maidservant with cold water, Thea thought as she peered around the screen. Sir Develin’s greatcoat and jacket were on the bed, and so was his cravat. His shirt, still tucked into his trousers, was open at the collar, exposing a portion of his chest.

  Regardless of his state of undress, Sir Develin opened the door, to reveal the waiting maidservant holding another pitcher.

  The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, and then her expression turned admiring and even flirtatious. That was surely the usual female reaction to Sir Develin Dundrake, and Thea ordered herself not to take offense.

  “I’ve brought some cold water, sir,” she said.

  “Thank you, but it’s not necessary,” he replied. “Nor will it be necessary to disturb us again. We’ll come down when we’re ready to dine.”

  “Yes, sir,” the maidservant said, bobbing a curtsey and smiling even wider when Sir Develin handed her a coin.

  Thea came out from behind the screen. She was about to suggest she go below when the man who was now her husband closed the door and turned toward her. As his gaze held hers, he began to unbutton his trousers.

  Chapter Three

  With a gulp Thea immediately started for the door. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your ablutions in peace.”

  “Stay.”

  Hesitating, she glanced over her shoulder. He hadn’t completely undone his trousers, but he’d taken off his shirt. She quickly looked away. “You’re half-naked!”

  The only other men she’d seen so undressed had been laborers in the fields or on the docks, large, beefy men who reminded her of a lumbering bear she’d once seen at a fair. Compared to them, Sir Develin was like a lean and muscular stag.

  “Since we’re married, we’ll have to get used to seeing each other less than fully clothed,” he said, running a measuring gaze over her that made her feel as if she might as well be naked. “I never kissed you at the wedding.”

  She took a step backward and hit the door. “It wasn’t necessary.”

  “It would have been the proper thing to do.”

  Proper? The word was like a dash of cold water, but it helped settle her rattled nerves. “Yes, I daresay it would have. But no matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going downstairs. I’m rather hungry.”

  “Need I remind you that we’re supposed to be newly married? We should go together, or it might cause unwanted speculation.”

  He did have a point. There was going to be enough gossip among the ton when word got out about their marriage. She should avoid causing more.

  “Very well,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady and her features expressionless in spite of the tumultuous feelings that made her feel like she was on a runaway horse. The desire to be with him as a wife should be and the hope that he would like her tangled with the fear of looking foolish, of doing something wrong, of seeming ignorant or silly.

  “Good. Now I’m going to have a bath,” he said, walking around the screen.

  Thea perched on the edge of the chair and tried to ignore the sound of Sir Develin removing the rest of his clothes: the dull thud of his boots landing on the floor, the softer sound of his stockings and trousers following.

  No doubt he was used to having his valet pick up his discarded clothing.

  She was not his valet and she was not about to go around that screen, not for anything.

  And yet, when she heard the water sloshing in the tub, she couldn’t resist the urge to peek through the nearest opening where the screen folded. His muscular back was to her and she watched as he washed his broad shoulders, dampening the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.

  And then he stood up.

  Blushing like a thief caught red-handed, she averted her gaze while also wondering—fearing—he had looked through the same opening at her. Which way had she been facing?

  “Will you be so kind as to fetch my valise?” he asked serenely, as if he bathed in the company of women all the time.

  Perhaps he did. After all, this wouldn’t be his first night with a woman. He’d probably been seen naked by several, and more than once.

  Although she was a virgin, he might not be pleased if she acted like a skittish horse, and she did want him to want her.

  She walked over to the bed, picked up his valise and went behind the screen.

  Sir Develin stood beside the tub with a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, riding low on his hips. With his dark hair brushing his shoulders, he looked like a wild young god, or Alexander the Great come to life.

  Her heart racing, forgetting that she wanted to appear worldly-wise, she handed him the valise and hurried back to the chair, where she did her best to regain her composure. She would not look through that gap again, in spite of how tempted she was.

  At last he came around the screen, fully dressed and looking as polished as he had seemed primitive and uncivilized before.

  While she suddenly felt like a beggar made a guest at a feast.

  Nevertheless, she rose, straightened her slender shoulders and said, “I would like to dine now.”

  With a regal nod, her husband held out his arm and together they made their way to the taproom.

  * * *

  “Here you are, my lady and gentleman,” the innkeeper exclaimed, hurrying toward Dev and his bride and grinning like a benevolent uncle.

  He led them past several other couples to a table close to the brightly flickering fire in the hearth. A majority of customers were young, some looked very young and one or two were clearly past middle age.

  Obviously Dev and Thea were not the only people who’d come to Gretna Green to be married that day, although Dev was fairly certain theirs was the only marriage where the bride had proposed to the groom.

  He suspected more than one of the young couples had come to Gretna Green to marry over t
heir families’ objections, too. One or two—like the middle-aged couple near the door—seemed oblivious of anything except each other.

  He, too, was very aware of his wife, but for a different reason. Her conduct in the bedroom had not been at all what he’d expected. Based on the kiss they’d shared, he’d believed she felt some degree of desire for him, and when they were alone, he’d done everything he could short of taking her into his arms to encourage her to make the first move toward intimacy. Instead she’d acted as if he were some kind of barbarian who’d abducted a virtuous maiden with the sole intent of ravishing her.

  “The wife’s outdone herself for you!” the boisterous innkeeper, who was as bald as an egg, continued. “A fine savory beef stew, we have, and the best bread to be found between Liverpool and Glasgow, if I do say so! And cake, o’ course. We’ve got some cake. Wouldn’t be a proper wedding dinner without cake!”

  Dev nodded his appreciation as he waited for Lady Theodora to take her seat, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

  Perhaps the passion and desire in Lady Theodora’s kiss had been feigned, intended only to get him in the marital noose. Once she’d succeeded, she would do only what was necessary in the bedroom, with as much joy and delight as shoveling out a stable.

  He had seen firsthand what happened when desire died, and he had no wish to repeat his mother’s sad existence.

  And could a marriage based on the groom’s winning some games of chance, his subsequent guilt and remorse, his pity and lust for the bride, really stand a chance of succeeding?

  He should suggest they end this charade of a marriage right now, before it was time to retire. If they didn’t make love, his solicitor could seek an annulment and likely get it.

  He would forgive her father’s debts and she would be free to go her own way. He would be free, too, as he’d been before. Alone and lonely, but free.

  The innkeeper and his wife appeared bearing two steaming bowls of stew, a basket of warm bread and a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. For the next little while and although he didn’t have much of an appetite, he tried to eat while ignoring everyone else in the taproom.