Книга - A Marriage Of Rogues

A Marriage Of Rogues
Margaret Moore


He made a dangerous wager…and won himself a wifeGambling hells are Sir Develin Dundrake’s forte. Hunting risk, craving victory, he’s surprised by nothing. Until the woman whose dowry Develin has claimed in a card game proposes the only solution that will rescue her from ruin: a wedding.Wicked Develin isn’t made for matrimony, but all Lady Theodora Markham demands is a convenient arrangement. He must avoid falling for his wife’s sensual charms – there are secrets hidden behind her beguiling gaze – yet neither can resist surrendering to the passion their marriage bed promises!







He made a dangerous wager...and won himself a wife

Gambling hells are Sir Develin Dundrake’s forte. Hunting risk, craving victory, he’s surprised by nothing. Until the woman whose dowry Develin has claimed in a card game proposes the only solution that will rescue her from ruin: a wedding.

Wicked Develin isn’t made for matrimony, but all Lady Theodora Markham demands is a convenient arrangement. He must avoid falling for his wife’s sensual charms—there are secrets hidden behind her beguiling gaze—yet neither can resist surrendering to the passion their marriage bed promises!


“Why isn’t your father here?”

“He’s sailed for Canada. He left a letter explaining why he’d taken the remainder of our funds and sailed for Halifax.”

“Good God, he left you with nothing?” Dev exclaimed, appalled.

Lady Theodora’s resolute expression returned and she straightened her slender shoulders.

“He left me my name and my pride, Sir Develin, and the hope of his eventual return. Be that as it may, I didn’t come here to discuss my father’s recent actions. I have a business proposition.”

A business proposition? That was as unexpected as her arrival.

“A goodly portion of the sum you won from my father was intended to be my dowry,” she went on briskly, giving him no chance to interrupt with either comments or a question. “I propose that since, you’ve got my dowry, you now take the bride.”

Dev had had the wind knocked out of him once before. He felt exactly the same way now. “What did you say?”


Author Note (#ubf6f93fe-84a1-5169-ab1a-1a0639050c61)

I’m often asked where I get my ideas. In the case of A Marriage of Rogues, another question might be, how long have you had this idea?

The answer is years. Literally. Years.

In fact it’s been so long I don’t remember when I first got the notion of a heroine confronting a hero and saying—basically—‘You won my dowry…now you get the bride.’

Why did it take so long for this idea to grow into a book? I did write one version—an unsuccessful novella. I put it away and wrote other stories. However, this idea just would not go away, and I was delighted to get the chance to try again—this time with a full book in mind.

Then ‘Life’ happened—in the form of not one but two major medical crises in the family. Two starts went out the window, and I thought the story was doomed never to see the light of day. However, thanks to very understanding editors, I was given time to weather the crises and begin again. In the end I think the story is all the better for the time and effort required to bring it to fruition.

I hope you enjoy Dev and Thea’s romance. They’ve waited a long time to have their happy ending!


A Marriage of Rogues

Margaret Moore






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Award-winning author MARGARET MOORE has written over fifty romance novels and novellas for Mills & Boon, Avon Books and HarperCollins Children’s Books. Her stories have been set in the Dark Ages and medieval Britain, Restoration, Regency and Victorian England and pre–Civil War Massachusetts. Margaret lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two cats. She can be found online at margaretmoore.com (http://www.margaretmoore.com), margaretmoore.blogspot.com (http://www.margaretmoore.blogspot.com) and @MargMooreAuthor (https://twitter.com/MargMooreAuthor) on Twitter.

Books by Margaret Moore

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Knights’ Prizes

Castle of the Wolf

Bride for a Knight

Scoundrel of Dunborough

Stand-Alone Novels

The Overlord’s Bride

Bride of Lochbarr

The Duke’s Desire

The Notorious Knight

Knave’s Honour

Highland Rogue, London Miss

Highland Heiress

In the King’s Service

A Marriage of Rogues

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook

The Welsh Lord’s Mistress

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


Dedicated to the newest members of our family. They’re already enriching our lives in so many ways.


Contents

Cover (#u6b35dc9f-e001-5c89-8c0b-f904530ddc43)

Back Cover Text (#ubdaa29e1-37a0-5c24-8c7f-63682b1b123e)

Introduction (#u15c9ff0a-ba00-5028-8c15-c3b5d1f73e89)

Author Note (#u0e52b350-a080-5984-ada1-4b9bf8fc576d)

Title Page (#u6d61a600-d116-55ea-9c96-98ad8f350797)

About the Author (#u045ff66a-387f-554d-b74e-a89180ebf6e6)

Dedication (#ua1ec0a9e-4bee-5f19-b89c-17ae302ecff3)

Chapter One (#ue710a8fd-ad44-505d-afd2-e7b98c0da34f)

Chapter Two (#u6a62ffb2-75be-567a-81f6-e4643a1c025a)

Chapter Three (#u038c92f3-4ec9-5ca4-9e48-5aff5212bb85)

Chapter Four (#ud3f64e40-2a1b-5ce0-a7c2-f62c141a7da9)

Chapter Five (#ucc879634-ddc7-5446-a5bd-a24b32723ea8)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_699b7bb1-31ac-595a-aad6-c5f4882a47b3)

Cumbria, Northern England, 1814

Muttering an oath, Sir Develin Dundrake rose abruptly from the desk in the study of his country house. Crossing the oak-paneled room to the French doors leading to the terrace, he watched in amazement as a lone female marched along the pebble path toward Dundrake Hall. Judging by her ugly ensemble and determined air, the woman had to be some local busybody bent on asking for a charitable contribution. Why else would such a creature venture forth on this cool, misty autumn morning? And did she not know better than to approach the manor house from the garden?

Whoever she was and whatever she wanted, he was in no mood to be harassed by an overbearing female, however noble her cause. He already gave a considerable sum to several charities of his own choosing and he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days.

He looked out again to see where she was—and nearly jumped out of his skin. She stood just outside the French doors looking into the study like Banquo’s ghost.

A surprisingly young, not terribly homely ghost, in spite of that ghastly pelisse the color of dung and droopy straw bonnet.

He strode to the doors and wrenched them open. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

With a little gasp of surprise, the young woman took a step back, giving him the upper hand, or so he thought until an expression of determined resolve came to her not-quite-homely features. Her arched brown eyebrows lowered over storm-gray eyes, the nostrils of her slender nose flared and her full lips thinned before she replied in an unexpectedly husky voice, “Good morning, Sir Develin. You are Sir Develin Dundrake, I assume.”

“Visitors should call at the front entrance,” he replied without any attempt at courtesy or directly answering her query.

“Have I the honor of addressing Sir Develin Dundrake?”

Was that sarcasm in her voice? “Yes, I’m Sir Develin,” he said shortly, and with slightly better grace. If she was here on a charitable mission, he was wrong to be rude, even if she didn’t observe the rules of etiquette.

“I beg your pardon for not calling at the main entrance,” the young woman answered, her tone conveying neither remorse nor regret. “I intended to walk around to the front until I saw you. Given that my business with you is of a very personal nature, I decided it wouldn’t be amiss to speak to you directly and in private.”

No doubt she’d decided. She seemed nothing if not decided, and unfortunately for her, that was not a point in her favor. His father had been decisive, too. As for any business of a personal nature, he’d never seen her before in his life, of that he was certain. He would remember those large eyes and full lips, if nothing else.

Nevertheless, there was something about her that seemed familiar...

“May I come inside?” she asked. “Or if you would rather remain where you are, I have no objection. However, I must and shall speak with you today, Sir Develin, whether in your garden or your house.”

No matter how resolute this woman was, he could easily have her removed from the premises and charged with trespassing, too.

Yet he did not. What he did next surprised him then and ever afterward. He opened the door wider and stepped aside to let her enter.

The young woman walked into his study and stopped in front of the marble hearth. A portrait of his father hung over it and she regarded it as if fascinated. Sir Randolf Dundrake had been painted seated at the desk that still dominated the room, one hand curled in a fist, the other on a book, even though he hadn’t read a book since he’d left school some thirty years before the portrait was painted. The only background was a dark curtain, making his pale, hard face stand out like a mask. His black hair was thick, like his son’s, and brushed back from a high forehead. He had the same brown eyes and strong jaw as his son, too, but thank God Dev hadn’t inherited his father’s thin lips and wide nose.

The young woman turned toward him. “That isn’t you.”

“No, it is not,” he confirmed, wondering if he should ring for the butler. Perhaps it would be wise to have another person in the room.

He started toward the bell pull.

“I am Lady Theodora Markham.”

God help me. Trying to calm his suddenly racing heart, Dev took a deep breath and slowly swiveled on his heel to face her. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

He’d heard her as clearly as if she’d been standing right beside him, but he needed time to think.

“I am Sir John Markham’s daughter. I’m sure you recall the name. My father lost a great deal of money gambling with you in London a fortnight ago.”

Recall the name? He couldn’t forget it or Sir John Markham. More than once Dev had suggested ending their game, but Sir John had insisted they continue playing even after he began losing, going so far as to call Dev a poor loser and a coward for wanting to quit. They had played on until the man had lost all the money he’d had with him and written Dev several promissory notes. The game had finally ended when Dev realized the man would never willingly quit. Ignoring Sir John’s increasing scornful remarks, he’d finally walked away from the table.

Since that night, he’d been half expecting Sir John to appear on his doorstep to plead for time to pay his debt. That would have been bad enough, but to send a female relative to plead in his stead, even one as apparently self-possessed as this, was the act of a blackguard.

However, the question now was, how was he to deal with this forthright relative?

Before he could come to any conclusion, she spoke again, her tone just as forceful. “In fact, Sir Develin, he lost all his remaining funds except for a very small sum that was in my keeping at the time.”

Although that was unwelcome and distressing news, Dev fought to keep any expression of guilt from his features. After all, it wasn’t his fault the man had kept gambling, or so he’d told himself a hundred times. “It was his choice to play.”

“I’m not sure ‘choice’ is precisely the right term to use,” Lady Theodora countered. “I realize you are likely unaware that he had sold the family estate some time ago, as well as all the plate and horses and carriages, to pay his gambling debts. All we had left were some clothes and the money he played with the night he lost to you. That was the last of his fortune, except, as I said, for a small sum in my care.”

“Have you come here to ask me to release him from his debts?” Dev asked, deciding that would be the easiest way to deal with her, and his own remorse. “Or perhaps to ask for another loan?”

Her expression as stern as Sir Randolf’s, she shook her head. “I am not a beggar, Sir Develin.”

His eyebrows lowered with confusion. “Then why have you come? If it’s to chastise and berate me, you may spare yourself the trouble. I gave your father every opportunity to leave the game.”

Finally she blushed, yet she still kept her steadfast gaze on his face. “However it came about, you were the beneficiary of my father’s final wagers.”

A dreadful thought came to him. Men had killed themselves over smaller debts. “Why isn’t your father here?”

“He’s sailed for Canada.”

Relief washed over him, and yet—“Without you?”

Her blush deepened. “He was too ashamed to tell me of his plans. He left a letter explaining why he’d taken the remainder of our funds and sailed for Halifax.”

“Good God, he left you with nothing?” Dev exclaimed, appalled.

Lady Theodora’s resolute expression returned and she straightened her slender shoulders. “He left me my name and my pride, Sir Develin, and the hope of his eventual return. Be that as it may, I didn’t come here to discuss my father’s recent actions. I have a business proposition.”

A business proposition? That was as unexpected as her arrival.

“A goodly portion of the sum you won from my father was intended to be my dowry,” she went on briskly, giving him no chance to interrupt with either comments or a question. “I propose that since you’ve got my dowry, you now take the bride.”

Dev had gotten the wind knocked out of him once before. He felt exactly the same way now. “What did you say?”

“I said, since you’ve got the dowry, you should also take the bride.”

He still couldn’t believe he understood her correctly. “What exactly do you mean?”

She continued to regard him steadily with those grave gray eyes and spoke with that same stern resolve. “I mean, Sir Develin, that you should marry me.”

“Marry?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I need a home and you need a wife. You are nearly thirty, Sir Develin, as well as rich, titled and handsome. Since you haven’t yet taken a bride, I gather you enjoy the freedom to do what you will, when you will, with whomever you want.

“However, because you are rich, titled and handsome, you are also the target of every marriage-minded young lady and her mama in England. If you marry me, in return for the comfort and security being your wife will afford me, you will have a wife who will run your household and maintain a position in society. My family may have become poor, but it was not always so. I’ve been properly educated and know what’s expected of a baronet’s wife. I will also give you the freedom to do as you will within the bounds of the law. I will not question where you go or what you do or with whom you do it. In short, I will have a comfortable life free from worry and you may have the carefree life of a bachelor without guilt or harassment from your wife or other marriage-minded females.”

Dev could only stare in amazement. This brazen, yet undoubtedly serious, dowdily dressed young woman standing before him had just made the most outrageous proposition he had ever heard—and he had heard a few outrageous ones in his time. To be sure, there was a certain logic to her suggestion...but her proposal was still outrageous and out of the question. “You must be joking,” he said at last.

“I am quite in earnest, I assure you,” she replied with that same calm determination. “Being a woman and without funds, I have limited opportunities. I could become a governess or teacher or a lady’s companion, but I thought first I would see if you would accept a measure of responsibility for what you’ve done in a way that will also relieve you of some difficulties.”

As she spoke, he managed to regain his composure. “I didn’t bring your father to that gaming hell, or force him to play cards, and I am not the one who left you without resources, so my conscience is quite clean in that regard,” he replied, even if it wasn’t...quite.

But although he had some regret for what had happened that night, he had no intention of binding himself for life to this bizarre woman.

Or so he told himself until he remembered the last ball he’d attended and the women who had watched him like a cat stalking a mouse. His objections diminished further when he recalled the trap the daughter of the Duke of Scane might have set.

Lady Theodora was right about certain elements of his current existence. And what other lady of his acquaintance would let him do as he liked and without complaint once he was wed?

None came to mind.

Regardless of whatever appeal her proposition held, there was something else she’d apparently failed to consider. “Suppose I were to accept this outrageous proposal, what about children, Lady Theodora? Have you considered that in your planning? I shall want an heir and a spare at least.”

If he thought he’d found the chink in her armor, the way she raised her head and thrust out her chin proved him wrong. “I am not an ignorant schoolgirl, Sir Develin. I shall do what is required.”

“Required? Hardly an enticement,” he noted dryly.

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s my understanding you need very little enticement.”

He would not be embarrassed or ashamed of his natural appetites. “I enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom and make no apologies for that.”

“None are necessary,” she replied. “As I said, I shall do what is required of your wife and expect you to do what is required of a husband. What else you do will be your own affair.”

He strolled closer. “Provided I agree to this astonishing proposal.”

She nodded. “Yes, provided you agree.”

“I just might,” he murmured before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the lips.

* * *

Surprised and stunned, Thea’s immediate instinct was to pull away and slap Sir Develin’s face—except that this was no harsh, demanding, punishing kiss. It was tentative, tender and tempting. And she had come here to ask this man to marry her.

Moreover, the man kissing her was Sir Develin Dundrake. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with those dark eyes, fine nose and strong jaw. She also knew a kind heart resided in that manly form, in spite of what had happened with her father.

Leaning against his body, she parted her lips and let his tongue slid into her mouth, not even moving back when his hand slid up her side and beneath her pelisse to cup her breast. Instead she held him closer still, gliding her hands over his back, feeling the play of his muscles through his broadcloth jacket. This was what she’d dreamed of since she first saw him months ago.

Nevertheless, reality was far more overwhelming, just as he was even more good-looking up close. She’d only seen him from a distance before. Here, in his impressive house, wearing those fine, well-fitting trousers, shirt, jacket and expertly tied cravat, his thick, dark wavy hair slightly disheveled as if he’d recently awakened, he was the perfect example of the perfect man.

He broke the kiss and drew back, a strange expression on his remarkably handsome face.

What was it? Surprise? Confusion?

Then he smiled, a roguish grin that was both merry and seductive. “I begin to appreciate the merits of your proposal, my lady.”

She was beginning to appreciate that, in spite of her vivid imagination, she had not been prepared for that kiss, or the desire it created.

“If I were to agree,” he went on, “when and where shall we marry? I assume you’ve thought that out, as well.”

It took her a moment to realize he both looked and sounded as if he might be seriously considering her proposal—something she had scarcely dared to hope. Trying to regain her precious self-control, she said, “You should meet me at the village inn early tomorrow morning. From there, we can go to Gretna Green and be married at once.”

“I see. What explanation do you suggest I give for my sudden elopement with a woman I’ve never met before?”

She had an answer for that, too. “I was raised in Ireland before my father lost his money. I understand you’ve traveled there in the past, so you can say we met in Dublin. And my family is in DeBrett’s, should anyone care to look.”

Sir Develin immediately went to a shelf beside the portrait of the stern, cruel-looking man. He pulled out a book and leafed through it before running his finger down a particular page. “Ah yes, there you are, or at least your family.”

He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “I confess myself surprised you’re willing to marry a man you’ve never met before.”

“Naturally I made inquiries before coming here,” she truthfully replied. “No matter how desperate my circumstances, I have no wish to tie myself to an inveterate gambler or a sot or a lecher. You gamble rarely, you don’t drink to excess and while you’ve had several liaisons with a variety of women, you aren’t a seducer of innocents. Nor are you a dandy.”

And when you stroll down the street, you move like a warrior prince, she thought, but didn’t say.

“You have made inquiries. But perhaps I have no wish to marry a woman I’ve only just met.”

“You had only just met my father the night you won all his money.”

“Marriage is hardly a game of chance.”

“Is it not?” she returned. “How well do you think most men of your rank know the women they wed—really know them? Don’t they more often marry based on family lineage and the limited acquaintance of shared social gatherings?”

He studied her for a long moment, then glanced at the portrait before looking back at her. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

She, too, had believed she had, until she was actually in Sir Develin’s presence and shared a kiss. Now her nerves were strained nearly to the breaking point. If this conversation lasted much longer, they might get the better of her, so she decided to get directly to the heart of the matter. “Are we to wed or not, Sir Develin?”

He smiled slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to answer. “Surely I may be allowed to think it over. After all, it isn’t every day I get a proposal of marriage. In fact, this is the first.”

His manner, both amused and condescending, roused her pride and her ire, too.

“This situation may be vastly amusing to you, Sir Develin,” she retorted, “but I assure you, it’s very serious to me. If you cannot give me your answer today, I shall consider that a refusal.”

“No need to be so hasty or so angry,” he said, his visage turning as grimly serious as that of the man in the portrait. “You must admit I have a right to take some time to contemplate your offer.”

She readied herself for his refusal and for what she would say when he did.

“I agree.”

Her lips parted and her eyes widened with astonishment. “You do?”

He nodded, and to her even greater amazement, a look of what could be amusement twinkled in his brown eyes. “I do,” he said with an affirming nod. “I shall meet you tomorrow morning at the Maiden’s Arms in the village of Dundrake as you suggest. Rather appropriate under the circumstances, don’t you think? Now I suppose you ought to stay to dinner.”

Torn between confusion, delight and relief, afraid he might change his mind if she stayed any longer, Thea rapidly shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to pack my things,” she replied, moving quickly to the French doors.

“Let me call a carriage for you. It’s a terrible day for walking.”

Her hand already on the latch, she half turned to answer. “No, thank you. I don’t mind. I enjoy walking. It’s not far and I’ll be halfway to the inn by the time the carriage is ready.”

Before he could say another word, Thea was out the door and walking across the terrace as fast as her dignity would allow until she reached the steps leading to the garden. Then her dignity gave way to excited relief and she broke into a most unladylike run.

Once out of the formal garden with its trimmed hedges and into the wilder wood bordering Sir Develin’s estate, she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against an ancient oak where she couldn’t be seen from the manor house. The very large manor house with its stone carving and that paneled room that seemed to embody the ancient and noble family that resided within.

But it was not of the garden, or the house, or the furnishings or the wood that Thea was thinking.

“He agreed!” she whispered, not quite able to believe what had just happened. “He agreed!”

She was going to be married to a rich and titled man. She would never live a life of poverty and want, cold and hunger, ever again. Even better, she didn’t have to resort to the plan she’d prepared if Sir Develin had refused.

And he’d done more than simply agree. Her fingers went to her lips that he had kissed with such passion. It was as if he actually found her desirable, and when she thought about their wedding night...

It would be wise not to think about that too much, she told herself as she pushed off from the tree and walked rapidly toward the village.

He could, after all, change his mind.

* * *

By the time Dev reached the French doors, Lady Theodora had disappeared into the morning mist like some kind of sprite or other supernatural being.

Maybe she was, he thought as he turned away. A vision conjured up by his guilt and remorse. Or perhaps he was feeling this combination of confusion and excitement because he’d never before met a more bold and determined woman, or one who kissed with such unbridled, unstudied passion.

He crossed to the table bearing the brandy bottle and glasses and poured himself a drink. Now that Sir John’s daughter was no longer there, with her big gray eyes and distracting, tempting lips, he could surely think more rationally.

She was right about his feeling of being on display in a shop. It had reached the state where he dreaded going to balls and parties. Her other arguments in favor of the marriage she proposed were well taken, too. And how many men were offered the chance to be married and yet still live the life of a bachelor?

Her unexpected, undeniable passion was a point in her favor as well. She had responded not with the practiced ease of his former lovers, but with a guileless desire that increased his own.

Yet what would his friends and the rest of the ton say if he appeared with a bride nobody knew and who many wouldn’t consider beautiful? They wouldn’t necessarily notice her shining, shrewd eyes, lithe and shapely body or soft, full lips.

His solicitor would surely think he’d lost his head and a doctor should be summoned.

He glanced again at the portrait of his father over the mantelpiece. That judgmental gentleman would have had Lady Theodora cast out of the house and the dogs set on her the moment she revealed who she was. He would have been completely unmoved by the look of desperate yearning that had crept into Lady Theodora’s large, luminous eyes as she waited for his answer to his proposal, a look that not only appealed to his honor, but touched his lonely heart.

Dev downed another drink, then wandered toward the French doors, looking out at the sodden garden again. At this time of year, no flowers bloomed, so the only greenery came from the neatly trimmed hedges and cedar border, and the wood beyond. It seemed like his life—merely existing while waiting for the warmth of spring and summer.

Putting aside such fanciful thoughts, he contemplated what he ought to do. Marrying Lady Theodora would assuage the guilt he’d been carrying ever since he let his pride, his need to win at all costs, keep him at the gaming table in spite of Sir John’s growing panic and despair.

But did he have to pay for that mistake by binding himself to a woman he didn’t love or even know?

Let Lady Theodora fend for herself. She certainly seemed capable enough.

After all, as he had said, her father could have left the gaming table. She wasn’t his responsibility and never had been and need never be.

Except...

He had agreed.

And the die had been cast, although not that morning when Lady Thea appeared and made that unexpected proposal. He had cast it himself the night he gambled with Sir John Markham.

And cheated.


Chapter Two (#ulink_49e8b750-be7c-52a0-8453-293557ddb32c)

“Can I get you anything, miss? Some bread and butter? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the servant girl asked Thea the next morning as she sat by the window in the main room of the inn overlooking the yard.

It was a large chamber and comfortable, with wide chairs and a fire blazing in the hearth—comfortable, provided you weren’t waiting to discover what your future would be. Or if you were not the object of curious stares and whispers, as Thea had been since she arrived on the coach from London two days before, alone and with only a small valise. It would surely cause more talk when—if—Sir Develin arrived and she left with him.

“No, thank you,” Thea replied to the plump young woman. The maidservant’s hair was messily tied in a loose bun. Her dress and apron were clean and neat, though.

Thea was glad she had so much experience keeping her expression placid. The ability had stood her in good stead with angry merchants and landlords for many a year and had proven rather impressive at curtailing gossip, or the persistent inquiries of curious people.

The young woman nodded at the hearth. “Maybe you’d rather wait by the fire.”

Thea shook her head. “No, thank you.” She preferred to stay where she was, watching the yard for any arriving carriages.

“We’re not expecting any coaches for some time yet,” the servant girl noted. “You are waiting for a coach, aren’t you? To go back to Liverpool? Or London maybe?”

Thea wasn’t about to tell her where she was bound. After all, she wasn’t really sure herself. In spite of what Sir Develin had said the day before, he might not keep his word.

When Thea didn’t reply, the maid frowned, then shrugged and mercifully went away, leaving Thea to watch the activity in the yard. Although the day was getting off to a cool and misty start, the yard was already a-bustle with grooms, stable boys and servants mucking out the stable or washing down the cobbles, filling the trough and bringing wood to the kitchen. Steam issued from the door of an outbuilding Thea assumed was the laundry—judging by the huge baskets of linen being carried there by strong-armed maidservants—any time it was opened. A cart full of large milk cans arrived and unloaded at the dairy, where a glimpse inside showed at least one young woman churning. A fishmonger came next, with baskets of freshwater fish and eels. The cook, wiping his hands on his apron, came out to appraise his offerings.

Then, when she was beginning to believe Sir Develin must have changed his mind, a shiny, black barouche-landau pulled by four beautifully matched white horses rolled into the yard. A coachman in dark green livery expertly brought the vehicle to a halt. When the coachman got down from his seat and opened the door, Thea’s heart leaped with relief. Sir Develin Dundrake, resplendent and handsome in a tall black hat, three-caped greatcoat and shining boots, stepped out.

Thea wasted no time. She grabbed the worn handle of her small valise and hurried outside, walking as fast as her pride and dignity would allow before coming to a halt a few feet from the barouche and Sir Develin. She also did her best to ignore the inquisitive stares of the coachman and other servants in the yard.

“Good morning, Sir Develin,” she said, managing to sound much calmer than she felt.

“Good day to you, Lady Theodora,” he replied, running his gaze over her from the crown of her bonnet to the hem of her pelisse.

She was aware her garments were not pretty and his intense scrutiny only made that fact more painful. Undaunted, however, she returned his perusal, noticing that in spite of the energy with which he’d disembarked from his coach, he was clearly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

Perhaps he had had second thoughts and had come to tell her—

“We’d best be on our way if we’re to reach our destination before the day is out,” he said, giving her a smile and holding out his arm.

He hadn’t changed his mind! He was going to marry her!

As exhilarated as she was at that moment, though, a sense of dread haunted her, too. But it was follow through with her plan, or live in poverty and insecurity the rest of her life.

She put her hand lightly on Sir Develin’s forearm, aware at once of the muscle beneath the fine clothes.

“We’re going north,” he said to the coachman. “To Gretna Green.”

Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the coachman, Thea straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and climbed into the carriage.

* * *

As the barouche rocked and bumped its way north toward Gretna Green, Dev surreptitiously watched the woman seated across from him. She’d squeezed herself into the opposite corner, as far away from him as it was possible to get within the small confines. What did she think he was going to do? Attempt to seduce her right there in his barouche?

Even if he was tempted to do so—and he was, a little—he was too exhausted to make the effort. He hadn’t slept well for the past fortnight, and last night was even worse. He’d paced the floor for hours, trying to decide if marrying her was the right thing to do, for either of them. In the end, the arguments she’d presented in favor of the marriage had outweighed his objections.

At least for now.

Until the ceremony was concluded, he could still change his mind. And so could she.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Gretna Green?” she suddenly demanded, one shapely eyebrow arched in query.

“By midday, I should think, if the roads are dry,” he answered.

“Your coachman looked quite surprised when you said we were going to Gretna Green. Did you not tell your household where you were going and why?”

How could he, when he wasn’t even sure she’d be waiting for him at the inn despite her boldness the day before? “I said I was meeting a lady.”

“That’s all you told them?”

“That was all they needed to know.” He crossed his arms and regarded her with a serenity he didn’t feel. “After all, you might have changed your mind.”

“Not I,” she swiftly and firmly replied before she went back to looking out the window.

She was certainly determined. That made her an interesting female, but was that really a quality he wanted in a wife? On the other hand, she had kissed with a boldness that had been quite exhilarating. No squeamish missishness from her!

As for the wedding night...

He wouldn’t think about that. Instead he took the opportunity to study this woman he had pledged to marry.

She wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Her movements were graceful, her fingers long, and her body slim and shapely beneath that horrible pelisse. Her straw bonnet was equally unattractive and cheap. It looked like the sort of thing a farmer’s wife would wear. A very poor farmer’s wife.

She abruptly turned and fixed him with her powerful gaze. “Has no one ever told you that it’s impolite to stare, Sir Develin?”

Like a green lad, he felt a flush steal over his face and damned himself for it. “Those are the ugliest garments I’ve ever seen,” he said, his embarrassment making him sound more harsh than he intended. “Surely that wasn’t the only color of fabric available. It looks like snuff. Used snuff.”

She did not blush. Instead she regarded him with what could only be called a glare. “It was the best fabric I could afford. The color made it less expensive. I daresay the cost of clothing is something a privileged scion of a noble house never has to consider.”

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.

“After 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 (#ulink_a41e5f3f-23c7-5a72-8c52-6319c2d78ab0)

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 their 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.

Lady Theodora, on the other hand, ate like one who had been starving, albeit with good table manners.

Perhaps she hadn’t had much to eat in the past several days, thanks to her father’s gambling losses. Pity, however, was no better a basis for marriage than lust or guilt.

“And now the cake!”

They both turned to see the grinning innkeeper carrying a platter toward them, followed by an equally plump and jolly older woman who must be his wife.

“Can’t be a proper wedding dinner without the cake!” the innkeeper repeated as he set down the platter bearing two slices of what appeared to be fruitcake. Petrified, dried fruitcake.

Dev struggled to keep his expression placid. “Alas, I’m unable to contemplate another morsel after that excellent dinner.”

“Oh, surely you can manage a bite!” the innkeeper’s wife insisted. “Just a wee one.”

Feeling like a minor martyr, Dev picked up the cake and took a bite. Sawdust would have tasted better. He managed to swallow, then immediately reached for his wine.

“Good, eh?” the innkeeper suggested.

“Never tasted anything quite like it,” he replied honestly.

“Now you, my lady,” the innkeeper’s wife prompted.

He must not have been as subtle as he thought, for his bride quickly and emphatically shook her head. “I’m sorry. I fear I really couldn’t eat another bite.”

When both the innkeeper and his wife looked about to insist, Dev rose. “It’s time my wife and I retired,” he said in a way that would brook no protest. “Please call us first thing in the morning. We want to be on our way as soon as possible.”

The innkeeper and his wife looked disappointed, until the wife said, “I’ll wrap a piece up for you to take with you. For your first baby’s christening.”

At the mention of children, Dev glanced at Lady Theodora. Her cheeks had turned a light shade of pink and—somewhat surprisingly—her smile appeared genuine when she said, “Thank you.”

“We’ll call you just after dawn, sir.”

“Good,” Dev said, holding out his hand to his wife.

Theodora ignored the gesture, instead leading the way up the stairs.

Just as well. Her touch had a most disturbing effect upon him and should he require witnesses for an annulment, they could honestly say there was a distinct lack of affection between Sir Develin Dundrake and his bride.

* * *

When they reached the bedroom now lit by candles on the washstand and bedside table, Dev faced Theodora and said, “If you’d rather not share my bed tonight, you need not. I can find accommodation elsewhere.”

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her cheek as if he’d hit her. “You don’t want to make love with me?” she asked in a soft, sad whisper.

He thought she’d be relieved by his offer, yet she was undeniably upset. And surprisingly vulnerable.

Where had that brazen, resolute and bold Lady Theodora gone?

However she looked at him, he had to resist both her appeal and his baser urges. He had to think, not feel, if he was to be master of the situation.

Yet despite his own resolve, Dev simply couldn’t tell her that he’d reconsidered their arrangement and was thinking of annulling the marriage. “I thought you might be too tired. It’s been a long day and we have another journey tomorrow,” he said instead.

“I slept in the carriage and so did you,” she noted, splaying her hands on his chest, her eyes full of longing.

This was the reaction he’d expected before. What had changed? Why was she so different now?

Until you know, it would be better to resist the urges of your body, his mind declared.

Yet she cannot be insincere in her desire, his heart replied. Her eyes aren’t lying. And you know what it is to long for affection. For love.

“I thought you enjoyed the pleasures of the bedroom,” she whispered, winding her arms about his neck. She raised herself on her toes so her lips were less than an inch from his. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Where did you hear such things?”

“London. You are quite well-known, you know.”

“Gossip. Rumors,” he replied, his breathing quickening, his yearning increasing even as he fought to restrain it.

“Were they lies? Do you not enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom?”

He lost the battle to resist. “I did. I do. I will,” he murmured before he embraced her and captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.

* * *

As Sir Develin held her close and kissed her, Thea’s doubt and dread ebbed away. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She could sense it, feel it, was certain of it. It was like a thick, soft rope between them, drawing them closer and binding them. She’d been afraid her bashfulness had caused him to reconsider and regretted acting like a naive girl. But he was proving her fears groundless. However he had behaved during the meal, he wasn’t sorry he had married her. She was Sir Develin Dundrake’s bride, and this was their wedding night.

Tonight she would have no fear, no shame, no embarrassment, no restraint. She would be his wife in every way, as he would be her husband.

Still kissing him passionately, she slipped her hands beneath his jacket to feel the muscles of his powerful chest. She remembered the sight of his naked back. The taut flesh. The narrow valley of his spine.

Her need growing, she pulled away. Keeping her gaze on his flushed face and questioning eyes, she reached back to untie the laces of her gown, then wiggled out of her dress that was as ugly as her pelisse until it puddled around her ankles and she stood before him clad only in her chemise and petticoat, stockings and boots. As he continued to watch, she pulled the pins from her hair until it fell loose about her shoulders.

Still he hadn’t moved, so after she set the pins on the washstand, she blew out the candle there and returned to him. Without speaking, she began to remove his clothes, starting with his jacket. He made no effort to help or hinder her while she continued with his shirt, undoing the buttons as far as they went. That wasn’t so easy, because her fingers were trembling, but in the end, she succeeded and pulled it over his head.

Regarding her steadily, he reached for the buttons of his trousers.

She was not, she discovered, quite as prepared for what was to come as she thought.

She hurried to the bed, tugged off her boots and stockings and got beneath the thick coverings before blowing out the candle on the bedside table and plunging the room into darkness.

“Do you still want me to stay?” he asked, his voice low and deep and seductive.

“Yes,” she replied, although she pulled the covers up to her chin.

The bed creaked and the feather bed dipped as he got in beside her.

She waited, breathless and excited, until his lips found hers for a tender, seeking kiss, exactly what a bridegroom’s kiss should be.

She put her arms about him, letting him deepen the kiss and slide his tongue between her lips. His hand grazed her breasts, his thumb flicking ever so gently over the nipple that had grown stiff. The warmth flooding her body increased.

She put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his arms, feeling the strength of him as she moved to caress his back, moving lower until she felt the rise of his buttocks.

That was as far as she dared while he untied the drawstring of her chemise and slipped his hand inside to stroke her naked breasts.

She moaned and arched and he inched closer, cradling her against him, before he broke the kiss and put his lips over her nipple, licking it gently with his tongue. It was like nothing she had ever known. Thrilling. Exciting. Arousing.

She closed her eyes and arched again, panting, while he continued to pleasure her with his lips and tongue. His hand moved beneath her petticoat and crept up her thigh to touch her intimately.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Trying to ensure that you’re ready for me,” he answered in that deep, soft voice.

“By touching me there?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He shifted lower and kissed her shin, then moved his lips steadily upward.

“Oh!” she gasped when he reached the inside of her thigh.

Surprise quickly melted into desire. Her knuckles whitened as she held tight to the sheet and let his tongue go where it would, do what it would. She felt no more shock or shame, only a delicious building tension.

Rising, he put his hands on either side of her and hoisted his body between her legs. His mouth returned to hers, taking it not so tenderly this time, but with a fiery, heated passion that kindled a similar blazing desire in her. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, his ribs, his chest, thrilling to the feel of his hot flesh and taut muscles, the welcome weight of him as he shifted his hips.

Again he pleasured her breasts, and now she arched to meet his licking, teasing tongue. Panting, she groaned as he stroked her below. And then his finger slid inside.

Her eyes flew open and he raised his head, his breathing swift and ragged. “I think you’re ready. Are you sure you want this?”

She was ready for anything her husband might do. “Yes!”

He reached down and placed himself where his finger had been. Then, slowly, he eased himself inside.

It didn’t hurt.

She smiled with joy and relief until he leaned down to take her mouth with his. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him and encircled his neck with her arms. Breathing became gasps and small groans. She closed her eyes, the delicious tension building more and more, as well as a growing sense that something was about to happen, like the uneasy calm before a storm.

He moved faster. She, too, began to move, rising to meet his thrusts. Gripping him harder, tighter. No longer kissing, their gasping breaths joined until, in a shattering moment, the tension broke, sending wave after throbbing wave through her body. At the same time, he groaned like a man about to expire, his body bucking.

He stopped and, panting, lay with his head in the crook of her neck while she slowly, slowly returned to a place where she could think. And speak. “Is that...all?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

He pulled away and moved to lie beside her. “It’s enough for tonight. And now that we’re so intimately acquainted, you should call me Dev.”

“And you should call me Thea.”

“Good night, Thea,” he replied, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Good night, Dev,” she said, also turning onto her side.

But she couldn’t sleep. After a while, she got up and washed, then crept back to bed, trying not to disturb him as she lay wide-awake. He needed his rest, for he must surely be exhausted.

* * *

But Dev was not asleep then, or for a long time afterward. He was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do.

Although he’d agreed to marry Thea Markham out of guilt, remorse and his distaste for the marriage mart, she also intrigued him. Her passionate responses had thrilled him, too, perhaps because she was so serene and practical and resolute at other times. But when it appeared she may have feigned her desire, he’d begun to question all the reasons for his decision and been prepared to seek an annulment—until she’d looked at him with apparently sincere longing. Then, and despite whatever reservations he still harbored, he’d been unable to resist his lustful urges, just as his father always said.

What should he do now? Stay married and trust that her desire was as genuine as it seemed and that their marriage could succeed despite its unusual origin, or give up the hope that any union based on such a foundation could be happy and seek an annulment?

In the end, he decided only one thing: until he was sure of his course of action, he should not touch his wife again.

No matter how much he wanted to.


Chapter Four (#ulink_d6b117b7-957a-59cc-845f-3104bf33aee6)

Seated in the barouche the next morning, Thea kept her gaze on the passing countryside while they continued their journey back to Dundrake. The rugged beauty of the lakes and mountains, and the play of the light and shadow caused by the sun disappearing behind clouds, were a wonderful change from the squalid areas of London where she’d been living. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of a waterfall or wild river, the water rushing over rocks. Occasionally they would pass a farmstead, the yard alive with chickens and geese, and sometimes a dog or a child quietly watching the fancy coach pass. Or they passed through a small village dominated by a little stone church, a smithy and a few shops around a green where some farmers and their wives were buying and selling.

Yet Thea couldn’t completely enjoy the scenery. She was too distracted by the grimly silent presence of the man sitting opposite her.

After finally falling asleep last night, she had awakened to find that Develin was already up, washed and dressed in expensive, well-made traveling clothes. He bade her a good morning and said little else. Unsure what to do or say to her husband, she quickly washed and dressed. She was relieved that, in spite of the intimacy they’d shared, he’d kept his gaze averted. It was different being alone with him in the brighter light of morning than it had been in the candlelit room last night.

At breakfast, he’d been polite but still nearly silent.

Perhaps he was simply tired, exhausted from the events of the day before and especially the night that followed. After all, she was weary, too. She’d lain awake most of the night wondering if she’d pleased him as much as he had pleased her and trying not to contemplate the other women with whom he’d been intimate.

“We’re nearly at Dundrake Hall,” her companion abruptly announced, his tone matter-of-fact. “The next curve should see us at the gates.”

Thea’s heartbeat quickened. What would his servants think of her? And his friends? Although she was educated and knew how to behave in polite society, she was a stranger and no beauty. She fervently hoped she could hold her own with the ton, or at least not be an embarrassment to her husband.

Despite her self-assurances, her pulse increased again when the coach rounded the curve and she had her first glimpse of the imposing iron gates of Sir Develin Dundrake’s estate. They looked like they belonged to a prison.

Perhaps one of the horses would throw a shoe or an axle break and delay their arrival. All she needed was a little more time to prepare herself.

Unfortunately no disaster impeded their progress.

When they reached the gate, the door to what had to be the gatekeeper’s lodge opened. An old man, gray-haired and bent-backed, hurried toward the gates from the wattle-and-daub cottage.

“Ah, it’s Sir Develin back, eh?” he called out in a thin, reedy voice as he peered inside the barouche. “And not alone, neither. I wish you joy, Sir Develin.”

“How the devil—?” her husband began, echoing her own surprise before a frown darkened his features.

The cat was clearly out of the bag, the news arriving via a visiting relative, peddler or tradesman perhaps. However their marriage was discovered, curiosity and speculation were no doubt going to be the reaction that greeted her introduction as Lady Dundrake, and likely not just among the servants.

She had had worse receptions. She suspected Develin had not, though, as his subsequent actions proved.

He leaned out the window and rather forcefully asked, “Is there a difficulty, Simpkins?”

“No, sir, no!” the gatekeeper replied, his gaze now fastened on Thea, who wished she had a better bonnet.

“Then open the gates,” her husband snapped before he returned to his seat, where he frowned and crossed his arms.

Since she was Lady Dundrake, it was time to begin to act like it, she told herself, so she gave the gatekeeper her best smile as they drove by.

Her smile disappeared when she saw the house. The Georgian structure with its grim gray stone and several gleaming windows had seemed vast and imposing when she approached it from the garden. It seemed vaster and more impressive from the front, with a wide stone portico and stairs and ornamental plinths and cornices. Dundrake Hall must have cost a fortune and taken years to build.

“My father did have a few good qualities,” her husband noted as the coach rolled along the gravel drive. “He had excellent taste and knew how to get what he wanted from a builder.”

“The house was your father’s design?”

“Yes, all of it, inside and out.”

“Did not your mother...?” She fell silent when she saw the warning look that flashed across Develin’s face. Clearly his mother was a subject to be avoided, at least for now.

So she stayed silent as the coach reached the house, where the servants were lined up like a firing squad in maids’ uniforms of dark dresses and white aprons and caps, or fine green livery for the footmen.

She took a deep breath and managed to sound composed when she asked, “How many servants are there?”

“Twenty-five or thirty, depending on the season. Mrs. Wessex can tell you how many are currently employed. She and Jackson, the butler, have been with the family since before I was born,” her husband replied.

Mrs. Wessex must be the housekeeper, and it was no comfort to Thea to find out she had been at Dundrake Hall for so many years. Servants of such long standing might very well look askance at a wife who had apparently appeared out of nowhere. “I daresay they’re surprised that you’re returning with a bride.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “They’re used to my impulsive decisions.”

“That is not quite the same as bringing home a wife they know nothing about.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage.” His brow furrowed. “You did say you knew how to run a household.”

Although there were some things her husband should never know, it was probably better to be honest about this. “Yes. I’ve just never actually done it before.”

* * *

She’d never run a household?

He really shouldn’t be surprised, Dev supposed. After all, there was much he didn’t know about her and little that he did. And of course, if her family had their income drastically reduced in recent years, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn the intricacies of running a manor.

Yet she seemed so supremely competent, he still found her admission unexpected.

He also began to wonder what else the woman who was now fully, completely his wife had been less than forthcoming about. What other things might he learn that would make him even sorrier he’d agreed to her proposal and made love with her last night?

He should have ignored her shining, longing eyes, the temptation of her body, the sultry sound of her husky voice and stayed away. He should have used his head.

One of the liveried footmen stepped forward to open the door. Dev disembarked and took a better survey of the gathered servants. No doubt they all wanted to see the new Lady Dundrake, who was still wearing that horrible pelisse and bonnet. Gad, even the scullery maid was there.

He shouldn’t have been in such haste to leave Gretna Green. He should have insisted she get new clothes made before they returned—another mistake it was too late to correct. All he could do now was pretend not to notice.

He slid a glance at Thea and caught her furtively straightening her bonnet and adjusting the collar of her pelisse. Perhaps she wasn’t as completely impervious to the call of vanity as she had seemed and seeing the servants arranged like soldiers on parade might be intimidating even to a woman not easily intimidated.

A memory suddenly arose, strong and vivid, of the day he’d been waiting outside the vicarage while his father criticized the rector’s last sermon. Some of the boys from the village had been taking turns jumping over a mud puddle. When he’d wandered closer, the oldest studied him a moment, then shrugged and let him join the game.

He’d slipped and fallen headlong into the puddle. When his father had seen him, dripping and muddy, the knee of his trousers torn, he flew flown into a temper, charging him with acting like a little ruffian and looking like one, too. He’d made Dev wear those torn, muddy clothes for a week.

He had thought he’d never forget that humiliation, but he had, until today.

He opened his mouth to say something encouraging. Before he could, though, Thea’s expression altered. It was like seeing her transform from vulnerable young bride to impervious Amazon.

Obviously his wife didn’t need any reassurance from him, he thought as he got out of the barouche and reached up to help her from the carriage.

Thea disembarked with the poise and expression of a visiting empress, and as if she were attired in the finest Paris fashion.

The pride he could understand, but her haughty demeanor was unexpected and unnerving, and not the way to impress the servants.

He led her toward the tall, distinguished-looking older man at the head of the line of servants. Jackson’s expression was as stoic as usual, his manner betraying neither surprise nor curiosity. “Jackson, this is my bride. My lady, the butler.”

“Jackson,” she repeated with a slight—very slight—inclination of her head.

“My lady,” Jackson intoned, bowing.

Dev pressed his lips together and continued toward the housekeeper. As always, Mrs. Wessex was impeccably neat, in a dark dress with not a single spot of lint, her ample waist encircled by a leather belt holding a large ring of keys. A pristine white cap sat atop her equally white hair.

“Mrs. Wessex, my bride,” he announced. “My lady, this is the housekeeper.

“My wife has no maid,” he added as Mrs. Wessex dipped a curtsy. “We shall have to hire one immediately. I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Mrs. Wessex.”

Thea’s grip tightened on his arm and this time, it did not lead to a passionate response. It was painful.

“I trust I am to be consulted on the selection,” she said with cool authority, a tone not likely to endear her to the servants any more than her behavior.

This was not the time or place for criticism, however, so he merely nodded and said, “If you wish.”

“I do.”

Annoyed, Dev decided it would be better to postpone the rest of the introductions. “It’s been a tiring journey, so the rest of the introductions can wait until later,” he said to no one in particular.

“Since the servants are all assembled here, I see no reason to postpone,” Thea replied. “If you’d like to rest, I’m sure Jackson and Mrs. Wessex can tell me who everyone is.”

She made it sound as if he were old and feeble and easily fatigued. Gad, what sort of woman had he married? “Of course if you’d prefer to meet the servants now, you may. Mrs. Wessex, please do the honors, then show my wife to my lady’s bedchamber. I have business to attend to.”

That wasn’t strictly a lie. As the owner of a large estate as well as a town house in London, he always had some business to attend to, of one kind or another.

He strode into the house and, without bothering to remove his hat and greatcoat, continued to his study. After throwing his hat and coat onto the nearest chair, he poured himself a stiff drink from the decanter of brandy on the side table, glanced up at the portrait of his father and muttered, “Yes, Father, this time you’re right. I was too impetuous.”

He downed the brandy in a gulp, then slumped into one of the worn wing chairs.

He’d married with the notion that he was making amends, but that act could well prove the old adage that two wrongs don’t make a right.

With a scowl, he rose from the chair and went to his desk. He was no helpless victim. He was Sir Develin Dundrake, baronet, heir to an estate and the toast of the ton. There was no need for him to continue this unfortunate liaison. After all, he had the best solicitor in London and he would write to Roger at once.

* * *

After the introductions had been completed and the servants dismissed, Thea was given a brief tour of the main floor of the house. There were two wings leading in opposite directions from the entrance hall. One wing was composed of the formal drawing room done in shades of Wedgwood blue and white, a large dining room with mahogany furniture brightly polished, a slightly less formal sitting room and the morning room, a very pretty chamber papered with depictions of songbirds. Like the room in which she’d first met her husband, this, too, opened onto the terrace. The other wing held the library, study, a large ballroom with mirrored walls and immense chandeliers, an anteroom for refreshments and the billiard’s room. Mrs. Wessex didn’t say the house was set up as if to separate the female members of the family from the male, but it certainly seemed that way. Nor did Thea give any sign that she’d been in the study before.

Not surprisingly she was not shown the lower level, where the kitchen, pantry, buttery, servants’ hall, laundry and wine cellar were located. Nor would she be shown the topmost level, where the servants slept, no doubt with the maids on one side and the male servants on the other.

After returning to the hall, she followed Mrs. Wessex up the ornately carved staircase to the family and guest bedrooms and dressing rooms.

“The guest rooms are to the left,” Mrs. Wessex explained, nodding at the wing over the masculine side of the house.

She gestured at the first door in the right corridor, on the side that would overlook the garden. “This is the master’s bedroom, with his dressing room just beyond.” She continued to the third door. “And this is your room. I do wish we’d had more notice about the wedding. All Sir Develin said before he left the other day was ‘Make up my mother’s room. It will be needed when I return.’ Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. This room hasn’t been used in years.”

Thea smiled in response, trying to make up for the way she’d acted when she first got out of the barouche. She was unfortunately sure she had made a terrible first impression. She had been too tense, too anxious, too stiff and unyielding. But she’d also been too aware of the strange nature of their marriage as well as her lack of beauty and fine clothes to be more herself.

Develin’s attitude hadn’t been helpful, either. He’d been cold and formal, then deserted her.

Yet she couldn’t lay the blame for her unfortunate first impression at his door. It was her fault, so it was up to her to try to undo any damage her manner had caused.

“It must be even more shocking that he came home with a wife,” she offered, speaking in her usual tone.

The housekeeper blushed. “Unexpected, to be sure, but he’s always been an impulsive fellow. His father used to chide him for his heedless ways.”

Thea remembered the portrait of that stern man in the study and wondered what it would have been like to be chided by him—surely far from pleasant.

“I can be rather impulsive, too,” she said, “although I more often take time to consider.”

“Do you, now?” Mrs. Wessex murmured as she opened the door to the lady’s bedroom and moved back to let Thea enter first.

She stepped into the bedroom of her dreams.

Tall windows provided ample light and a canopied bed dressed with light green silk coverlet stood against one wall papered with twining leaves. Across from the bed was a fireplace with a marble front, carved with vines and plump little cherubs. A looking glass rested in one corner, and a delicate dressing table boasting another mirror was against the other wall. Silver candleholders rested on the two bedside tables.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she cried, clasping her hands as if offering a prayer of thanks, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“I’ll leave you to rest, my lady, and I’ll send Ella to help you dress for dinner,” Mrs. Wessex said.

“I can manage for myself,” Thea said, wanting more than anything to be alone. So much had happened today and in the few days before that...and then she saw the furrowed brow of the housekeeper. “Until Ella arrives,” she hastily added.

Mrs. Wessex gave her a very small smile, nodded and left her.

Alone at last, Thea wandered around the lovely chamber. This was also what she’d dreamed of when she decided to ask Develin Dundrake to marry her—a beautiful home, evidence of a new and prosperous future. She need no longer dread that she would be all alone in the world, poor, cold and starving, with no home and no family, no husband, no children.

But what of love, Thea? a little voice inside her queried. Don’t you want to be loved?

Surely love would come, too, if not from her husband, at least from her children.

* * *

Thea didn’t see Develin again until he joined her in the drawing room before dinner that evening.

She had ignored Ella’s shocked expression when the maid discovered Thea had only three dresses to her name, and the one she wore now, of plain blue taffeta, was the finest. The youthful maid had hesitatingly offered the information that there was an excellent dressmaker in the village, as well as a milliner. Thea had thanked her and silently vowed she would visit them as soon as possible.

Upon entering the drawing room, whose glories she had only glimpsed earlier that day, she’d managed to avoid gawking like a stunned peasant. She had never seen so much gilt furniture richly upholstered in blue velvet, or so many delicate figurines as those on the mantle, not to mention the silver sconces and candelabra and the very fine pianoforte in an alcove.

She’d wondered if her husband would expect her to play. If so, he would be disappointed. She’d only begun her musical education when the family funds started to be depleted, and her music lessons had been one of the first economies.

Although she’d waited with growing impatience for her husband to appear, she hadn’t chided him when he finally arrived to escort her in to dinner. Nor had she pestered him with questions or forced him to make conversation as the meal progressed. After all—and so she fervently hoped—he might not be annoyed with her. He might simply be a quiet man.

And what a meal it was! There was a lovely cream of mushroom soup, followed by breaded haddock, then roast beef and chicken with peas and carrots in a thick sauce. The dinner ended with three kinds of pie, a cake and other confectionaries arranged on a tiered plate. There was also ample wine, although she was very careful not to drink too much. She was unused to fine wine and wanted to keep her wits about her. She had made enough mistakes already today.

At last the meal ended, and she retired to the drawing room again, alone. She perched on a gilt chair near the ornate marble fireplace where a fire warmed the room. After a time, Mrs. Wessex arrived, as well as Ella bearing a tea tray. The silver service gleamed in the firelight, and more delicate cakes and sweets were on a pretty china plate beside it.

“Shall I pour, my lady?” the older woman deferentially inquired.

“No, thank you,” Thea replied, determined to prove she wasn’t completely ignorant about such things.

She didn’t get the chance. The housekeeper simply nodded and she and Ella left the room.

With a heavy sigh, Thea poured a cup of tea and sipped it while she waited. And waited some more.

Just when she had decided Develin wasn’t going to join her, he strolled into the room as if no time at all had passed since dinner. Or as if she was of no importance whatsoever.

“I was about to give you up for lost,” she said, trying not to sound irate or frustrated, although she was both. “The tea is probably cold. Shall I ring for more?”

“No, I don’t want any tea,” her husband replied. He walked past her and leaned against the mantelpiece, his forearm casually draped across it and all the while regarding her with an enigmatic expression.

“That was a very sumptuous meal,” she said at last.

Still no response.

“Do you usually have such meals? It seemed quite extravagant.”

“I’m quite rich.”

She would not continue this uphill struggle to have a conversation. If he was upset with her, she would rather find out. He did have some cause to be annoyed—but then, so did she.

She rose and faced him squarely. “I appreciate that I may not have acted as you might have wished when we arrived here today.”

He lowered his arm and raised an eyebrow, but did no more than that.

Even if he was going to persist with his silence, she would admit the truth, at least about her feelings that day. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? You were afraid?” he repeated, as if that was hardly to be believed. “Of my servants?”

“Not precisely. But I...that is, this house...” Annoyed with herself for being so incoherent, she began again. “This house is so large and there are so many servants, I was afraid of making a mistake, or saying the wrong thing. Instead I may have appeared more haughty and arrogant than I intended.”

Her husband’s lips turned up a little at the corners in a manner that struck her as condescending, as if she were a naughty child. “I did wonder what had gotten into you,” he said, his tone no less patronizing.

Her pride piqued, she rather tartly replied, “If you’d talked to me more in the carriage, I might not have been so anxious.”

Develin frowned. “I suppose it didn’t occur to you that I might have some cause for concern about how we would be received when word of my marriage got out.”

“Did you not take that into account when you accepted my proposal?”

“I didn’t expect you to act like an arrogant—”

“I’ve explained that,” she interrupted. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect a man like you to understand. As for arrogant...” She ran a coolly measuring gaze over the man standing arrogantly before her. “I believe I’ve met my match in that.”

“If I am arrogant, at least I have cause to be,” he returned. “I am a baronet, you’re the daughter of an impoverished gamester who abandoned you. Yet you acted like the Queen of Sheba—hardly a way to ensure good relations with the servants whose help and favorable opinion you’re going to need if this house is to run smoothly.”

“I may not be the Queen of Sheba,” she replied frostily, “but I am the woman you married. I’m the woman you made your wife in every way. Whatever you may be thinking, there’s no undoing that now.”

He didn’t answer. He simply regarded her with cool, unnerving confidence.

Dread flooded through her. They were married, truly married. Surely nothing could change that.

Except that he was a rich and titled man. He would have powerful, influential friends and could afford the best attorneys, men capable of finding ways to overturn any contract or agreement.

“We had a bargain,” she reminded him, her voice rising even as she fought to maintain her composure. She went closer to him, until she was a mere handbreadth away. “If you’re an honorable man, you will keep it, as I shall keep my word. I shall run your household as required, and first thing tomorrow I will go to the village and order some new clothes from the dressmaker there. Ella has informed me she’s quite excellent, and I’ll visit the milliner, too. And tonight, should you wish to come to my bed, I will not refuse you.”

She caught the sharp intake of his breath, saw the flash of desire in his dark eyes. Yet that look of bridled passion was followed quickly by another frown.

Not wanting to hear his response, Thea turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

* * *

Breathing hard, frustrated and aroused in spite of all his efforts not to be, Dev was tempted to slam the door behind her, but that would only alert the household that something was amiss between the baronet and his bride—although they’d probably find that out soon enough, just as he had come to realize he’d made a grave mistake.

He should have told her before dinner that their marriage was wrong. That he wanted to annul it and would find a way to do so.

But the words had stuck in his throat then and afterward. Even when she was so obviously angry and despite her haughty behavior, he hadn’t been able to tell her he was sorry they had married.

It must have been his pride that kept him silent on the subject of an annulment. Now that he was aware of that weakness, he could surely find the right words to inform her of his decision. He would secure the annulment and provide her with a sufficient sum to live on for a few years, as well as foregoing any repayment of her father’s promissory notes. If she still balked, he would offer his solicitor’s assistance in securing lodgings in any city that she named, although preferably far from London. Surely then she would be willing to end what was clearly a misalliance, and he could be free of any guilty obligation.

Whatever happened in the future, however, one thing was clear: he would not be going to her bed tonight.


Chapter Five (#ulink_76981458-6c7d-548f-8340-e9f2522f1869)

After another restless night with little sleep during which her husband did not arrive, Thea wasted no time summoning the carriage to take her to the village of Dundrake. Whether her husband regretted their marriage or had simply tired of her already, she was his wife in every way and she would do whatever was necessary to remain so, beginning with a new wardrobe suitable for a baronet’s wife.

Mrs. Wessex looked a little askance when Thea told her she was going to the village, but being a servant, she could ask no questions. The butler, who seemed more statue than human, helped her into the carriage and told the coachman where she wanted to go. The drive wasn’t unpleasant, and she was curious to see more of the estate and surrounding area, or as much as she could from the road.

It was very pretty country, still wild enough to be ruggedly beautiful, but tame enough to have decent roads and prosperous farms. The village itself, named after the Dundrakes, was charming, with a large church built of weathered gray stone, an ample green and several shops in addition to the Maiden’s Arms and at least one other tavern.

She wasted no time before calling upon the dressmaker, a petite Yorkshirewoman named Mrs. Lemmuel who wore a simple gown of dark blue wool that fit her hourglass shape perfectly. Her light brown hair was neatly parted in the middle and pulled back. More important, although she took in Thea’s cheap and ugly garments in a single glance and probably estimated to the penny what they had cost, she gave Thea a welcoming smile.

“Good day,” she said as Thea studied the display of Mrs. Lemmuel’s work and the bolts of fabric on shelves nearby.

Thea returned her greeting, then voiced the purpose of her visit. “I’ve heard you’re a most excellent dressmaker. I require some new dresses and two ball gowns. Also some undergarments.”

Mrs. Lemmuel’s brown eyebrows rose. No doubt she was wondering how a woman currently dressed in such cheap and flimsy garments could possibly afford so many new and costly items.

“I’m newly married and have been traveling, so my wardrobe is in a very sad state, as you can see,” Thea offered, telling herself that little lie was forgivable. “My husband says I’m to purchase whatever I require. Cost is no consideration.”

Mrs. Lemmuel’s expression softened. “Most generous! Are you to live in the vicinity?”

“I understand my husband’s family has lived here for quite some time.”

Confusion came to the dressmaker’s face.

The servants at Dundrake Hall had somehow learned of her marriage; word would soon spread beyond those confines to the village, so there was little point in prevaricating. “I recently married Sir Develin Dundrake.”

“Sir Develin Dundrake!” Mrs. Lemmuel cried, her voice so shrill it was almost a squeak.

Then suddenly it was as if Thea had announced she was indeed the Queen of Sheba come to shop. The dressmaker’s attitude became if not exactly fawning, certainly much more accommodating. “You must look at this silk,” she insisted, running her hand over a silver-colored bolt. “It will suit you admirably and bring out your eyes.”

From that better beginning Thea spent the next part of the morning choosing a pattern for a ball gown to be made of that silk, as well as fabric and patterns for several day dresses and another ball gown, that one of deep sapphire blue trimmed with wide lace.





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