Lord Garson’s Bride Page 3

  A shiver that combined fear with interest rippled through her. She’d tried, not entirely successfully, to reconcile herself to dying a virgin. If she said yes to Hugh, she’d know what it was to have a man in her bed. And a young, virile, good-looking man at that. “When you say demanding…”

  Heat flared in the gaze that swept over her in a thorough inspection. She shivered again. Not with revulsion.

  “I won’t be a cold husband, Jane.”

  She’d never met Morwenna Nash, but she’d heard the woman was a great beauty. Nobody had ever said that about Jane. Pleasant-looking was about the best compliment she ever garnered.

  When she looked at this handsome man who offered her marriage without love, she was woman enough to regret her lack of allure. She shifted under his gaze and wished with a fervor she hadn’t felt since she was an adolescent that she was a girl who turned men’s heads. Then at least she’d enter into this bargain with some power of her own.

  “You want children,” she said, heat rising in her cheeks.

  “I do. I’ll do my best not to make your duties too onerous, but—”

  “But that’s why you want a wife.”

  “That’s why I want you.” He paused and subjected her to another of those scorching stares that seemed to pierce right through to her indecisive heart and stirring carnal impulses. “If the thought of sharing my bed is distasteful, I will understand that you can’t accept my proposal.”

  It was her turn to inspect him. He was an attractive man, inside and out. She tried to imagine that big body rising above hers as he pushed inside her, but inexperience defeated her. No countrywoman remained ignorant of the mechanics of mating. But it was impossible to equate her knowledge with how she’d feel giving herself to Hugh.

  Her attention dropped to those large, capable hands, hands that would touch her skin, hold her hips as he thrust into her. That odd, nervous feeling spiked and set her stomach churning.

  But she felt no distaste.

  Just a good dose of curiosity.

  Jane was woefully unworldly. She’d never been to London. Heavens, in the past ten years, she hadn’t been past Exeter. But some hitherto unrecognized instinct told her that Hugh Rutherford would prove a skilled lover.

  Perhaps this marriage offered more satisfactions than she’d originally counted.

  She licked dry lips and made herself meet his eyes. “I’m not…unwilling.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Hardly the height of enthusiasm. But he offered her his name to solve a practical problem. His emotions weren’t involved.

  “If I say yes, how do you see this working?” she asked.

  “We’d live at Beardsley Hall and visit London for the season. If you wish, we could travel. Also…”

  “No, I mean immediately,” she said, although her heart leaped at the idea of seeing new places, new people after her long exile at Cavell Court. While she was sad to leave her home, she couldn’t deny that it had become something of a prison. She’d welcome a glimpse of the wider world. “Would we have a big wedding in London? I’m only just out of mourning for Papa.”

  She caught his quickly hidden dismay at the idea. “If that’s what you’d like.”

  Lucky for him, she couldn’t imagine anything worse. Especially as all those curious eyes would compare her to the lovely Morwenna. Not to her advantage. If she accepted this proposal, she’d have to face the fact that not just Hugh, but the entire world would always consider her second best. “What would you like?”

  He shrugged as if it hardly mattered. She supposed for him, it didn’t. “If you say yes, as I dearly hope you will, I’ll call on the vicar here and arrange for the banns to be called. I’ll go back to Beardsley and do the same thing up there. On the way, I’ll stop in London and ask Lord Stone to be my best man. I’ll see the lawyers about the settlements at the same time. In a few weeks, I’ll come back here, and we’ll marry in the village church. I assume you’d like to have your neighbors at the ceremony to wish you well. After that, we can go to Beardsley for a few weeks, then to London for the season. Or if you like, we could make a wedding trip to France or Italy. Really, it’s up to you.”

  “Italy might be a step too far at first,” she said drily, even as she struggled to come to terms with how her constrained life would expand if she said yes. Hugh would never love her, and she certainly wasn’t in love with him. But if they married, she’d take up a great lady’s place in the world. It was the role she’d been brought up to fill, and this might be her only chance, now Felix moved into Cavell Court. That alone made Hugh’s proposal tempting.

  Hugh continued to study her. “Jane, I can guess how lonely you’ve been these last years.”

  She’d never appreciated people’s pity, but perhaps because Hugh had suffered himself, she didn’t prickle up. Her hands spread in an eloquent gesture. “There were times when I felt so alone, I didn’t know how I’d make it through the next day.”

  He stretched out his hand toward her. “Then marry me and be my friend, and you won’t be lonely again.”

  She stared at his hand without moving to take it. Common sense said that accepting his proposal answered most of her problems. But some deeper instinct warned her that marrying a man who was in love with another woman would inevitably lead to a lifetime of unhappiness.

  When she didn’t immediately agree, he looked disappointed. “Do you want to think about it?”

  If she thought about it, her fears, fears that might just be cowardice, would make her choose the safe option. “I’m not convinced that will help,” she admitted shakily. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

  A self-derisive smile twisted his lips. “I’ve been planning my proposal for six months, ever since I saw you being so brave at your father’s funeral. Although given my graceless start, you have reason to doubt that.”

  It hadn’t been the sort of proposal she’d dreamed of when she was a girl looking forward to a season and suitors and all the pleasures open to a rich young lady entering society. This wouldn’t be the marriage she’d dreamed of then either, with an adoring if unidentified spouse.

  But for all that, it seemed to be the marriage she was going to have.

  As he’d unceremoniously pointed out, her options were limited and unappealing. Marrying Hugh meant she could have children. He’d give her a home to make up for the loss of Cavell Court.

  There was no love. But love wasn’t likely to result from her descent into genteel poverty either.

  Her heart begged her to reconsider any decision that shut off all possibility of love, but her head knew better. Surely when she had children, there would be love, even if not the love between man and woman. Becoming Lady Garson offered advantages that outweighed her unformed misgivings about how she’d feel.

  With surprising steadiness, she stood and stepped across to take his hand. As his fingers closed around hers, heat surged up her arm and stirred an unfamiliar and not unpleasant reaction. Perhaps sharing his bed would turn out to be more than a duty, after all.

  She summoned a tremulous smile. “I’ll be very pleased to marry you, Hugh.”

  *

  Chapter Four

  *

  Garson stood at the altar of St. Mary and All Angels, the squat little Saxon church that served the village of Cavell Stanton. The organ played something he didn’t recognize, just as he didn’t recognize most of the people in the congregation. He was an only child, and while he had a few aged aunts and cousins, he hadn’t asked any of them to make the arduous journey from Derbyshire to Dorset. Nor had he invited his dissolute and sophisticated London friends. They’d been too closely associated with his previous courtship.

  “She’s late,” Silas Nash, Lord Stone, murmured from beside him.

  Silas might strike some people as an odd choice for best man. After all, he was Morwenna’s brother-in-law. But he remained Garson’s closest friend, and despite some awkwardness after that disastrous engagement party
, their friendship had eventually settled back into its old amity.

  Silas looked tidier than usual, thanks to the attentions of his wife Caroline, who sat in the congregation wearing a spectacular bronze silk gown. The man’s shock of light brown hair was almost neat, and he hadn’t yet started tugging at his neck cloth to loosen it.

  “She’ll be here.”

  Garson wished he felt as confident as he sounded. He’d spent most of the last three weeks in Derbyshire, preparing Beardsley Hall for his bride’s arrival. Now he wondered if he should have stayed in Dorset and devoted that time to courting her. When she’d accepted his proposal, she’d looked uncertain. This delay in her arrival now hinted that her doubts had only grown during their time apart.

  Last night after he’d booked into the frankly inadequate inn, he’d gone up to Cavell Court, intending to soothe any fears Jane harbored about their imminent wedding. But the house had been packed with guests, including her sister Susan and the unruly brood of nieces and nephews. While Jane had seemed pleased to see him, they hadn’t managed a private moment to talk.

  But as she said, she was a woman of her word. She wouldn’t let him down.

  He hoped.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.” Silas’s hazel eyes were somber with what Garson recognized as concern. Naturally he was bloody concerned. He knew better than most people how deeply his friend had loved Morwenna. Still did, damn it.

  Now Garson set his face in a new direction. He meant to make the best of things with the wife he’d chosen. He owed Jane his allegiance, and he intended to live up to the promises he spoke today. Even if it killed him.

  “You’ll like her,” he said. Silas and Caro had reached the inn late last night, after a broken axle interrupted their journey, so he hadn’t yet introduced them to his bride. “She’s a cracker of a girl.”

  Jane was a cracker, but that didn’t stop his heart from sinking when he heard a rustle and a murmur behind him. The organist burst into a triumphal air. Garson turned to see Jane Norris step into the church with her sister Susan a few paces behind her.

  For a dizzying moment, everything blurred, and he saw a slender, dark-haired woman with deep blue eyes walking toward him. Then he blinked and returned to harsh reality.

  Except that wasn’t fair.

  It wasn’t Jane’s fault that he pined for his lost love, especially when she’d clearly done her best to be a credit to him today. She’d made a better fist of her appearance than he’d expected. The pale-faced dowd who had accepted his proposal looked almost pretty. She didn’t exactly glow with happiness—but then neither of them was under any illusion that this was a love match, thank God.

  Her cream dress was bang up to fashion, and it fitted much better than the gray monstrosity from three weeks ago. Her wedding gown clung close enough to hint at a narrow waist and gracefully rounded hips. He’d already noticed her magnificent bosom—he was a man, after all—but on today’s evidence, the rest of her was just as fine.

  He’d been anticipating the night to come as something of a chore. Now his blood pumped faster at the prospect of unwrapping those luscious curves.

  “She’s lovely,” Silas said beside him.

  “She is,” he said, and knew he hadn’t hidden his surprise when Silas looked troubled.

  “You’re a lucky bastard.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said and meant it.

  Jane looked up to send him a shy smile. He smiled back.

  She wore a lavender bonnet, and as she approached, he saw how the color lent a hint of blue to her gray eyes. There was even some pink in her cheeks.

  She wasn’t the bride of his heart. But she was certainly a woman to take pride in. She had courage and heart, and she was smart. With good will and hard work, surely he and Jane could create a fulfilling life together. He waited while she passed her bouquet of hothouse flowers, courtesy of Silas’s greenhouses, to her sister, then took her hand.

  As her fingers trembled in his grasp, his sensual interest stirred anew. He’d never expected to desire his bride, but he garnered some encouraging signs that he might be mistaken.

  With an unaccustomed surge of hope, he turned to face the vicar.

  *

  So she was married.

  Outside the church, Jane took her place in an open carriage bedecked in pretty pink satin ribbons and more of Silas’s exotic lilies and orchids. Thank goodness it was only a short ride to the house. The day turned colder, and she could smell snow on the way. Her cashmere shawl, while colorful, wasn’t proof against the air. Although perhaps she couldn’t entirely blame the bleak weather for the chill settling in her bones.

  The carriage creaked as Hugh stepped up to join her. In his severe black, he looked marvelous, the perfect bridegroom. His elegance only fed the nerves seething in her stomach.

  Because she was well aware she wasn’t the perfect bride.

  Too old. Too plain.

  If they loved one another, she suspected that wouldn’t matter. But they didn’t, and she couldn’t help feeling completely inadequate.

  He was laughing at something Lord Stone said and brushing rice from his broad shoulders. Despite knowing Hugh all her life, today he seemed disturbingly alien. His sheer size. The flash of large white teeth in his tanned face. Something that even in her innocence she recognized as potent masculinity made her shrink into the red leather seat. Until she reminded herself that they were in public and she owed it to Hugh—and herself, by heaven—to appear content with her choice of husband.

  As he sat down beside her, he surveyed her from under the curling brim of his hat. “Having a crisis of confidence?”

  Her lips twisted. “Can you tell?”

  They spoke in low voices, although given the noise from the milling crowd, the coachman would need sharp ears to eavesdrop. Hugh caught her gloved hand and slid closer. She watched how her hand disappeared inside his much larger one. That seemed somehow ominous, symbolic of the way his life was about to swallow up hers.

  “Trust me, Jane. I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

  “And I’ll do my best, too.” If only she could make him happy. Walking up the aisle, she’d been bitterly aware that he’d prefer to see another woman at his side this morning.

  That feeling had intensified in the ceremony when he’d kissed her cheek instead of her lips. The contact had lasted a mere instant, but it had burned like ice.

  He regarded her with a frown. “You make a beautiful bride.”

  “Thank you.” If he didn’t seem so disapproving, it would be easier to sound like she believed him.

  “But I’m afraid you’re turning the same color as your bonnet.”

  “The same color…” she said, not following.

  He smiled and to her surprise, hooked one powerful arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. “We can’t have my bride turning into an icicle before we get to the wedding breakfast.”

  “It’s not far,” she said shakily, basking in the delicious heat radiating along her side.

  “Too far to shiver all the way.”

  “But people will see.”

  The fond note in his rumbling laugh soothed her disquiet. “We just got married, Jane. I’m allowed to cuddle my bride.”

  Cuddle? That sounded too intimate, when he was merely trying to keep her warm.

  Tonight he’d do more than put his arm around her. If she wanted to cower away from him now, how on earth would she survive a night in bed with him?

  Except being held so close wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was rather wonderful. Once Hugh’s warmth surrounded her, the cold air became almost piquant. She became aware of all sorts of things she’d never noticed before. The citrus tang of his soap. Beneath the lemon, the spicy scent of his skin. The way her body fitted so neatly to his, as she gave up her quibbles and leaned into him.

  He made a sound of satisfaction and tightened his hold.

  At Hugh’s nod, the coachman set the horses in motion. The clop of hooves
, the carriage’s soft creak, and the jingle of the harness preserved their privacy.

  The well-wishers waved as the carriage drew away from the church. Everybody was happy for Jane. She wished she was. She’d spent most of her life wishing something exciting would happen. Now it had, and she was a mass of jangling nerves.

  They trotted up the drive. The way had been cleared of overnight snow, but glistening white banked high on either side, and frost turned the elms lining the avenue into dreamlike sculptures. A pale sun shone through wispy clouds. A hundred people followed, but right now, Jane felt isolated in a cocoon with Hugh.

  “This is the beginning of a new life,” she said softly. “I wonder what it will bring.”

  “Happiness and fulfillment, God willing,” Hugh said, just as softly. “Today I pledged myself to you, Jane. You’re a Rutherford now. ‘Loyalty unto death.’ From this day forward, it’s you and me together against the world.”

  “That’s an odd way to put it,” she said, even as she appreciated hearing that she was his priority. He might never love her, but he took this marriage seriously. He meant to do right by her. She just wished he viewed that as a pleasure, instead of a duty.

  But it was too late for second thoughts. She, like Hugh, had to make the best of the vows they’d just made.

  He gave a grunt of amusement. “Lately life and I have had a rather combative relationship.”

  Just like that, Morwenna’s ghost intruded. Jane stiffened and tried to pull away, but his hold tightened. “Don’t bristle up. I’m sorry I said that.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” She forgot how perceptive he was. “I don’t want either of us walking on eggshells.”

  “But I have no right to ride roughshod over your feelings.”

  “You’ve hardly done that,” she said, even as she wished Morwenna Nash to the bottom circle of hell, however charming she might be. She wasn’t exactly jealous of the other woman. But this taste of how the memory of his lost love would dog her marriage promised trouble.

  “I see you’ve spent the past three weeks worrying if you’ve made the right decision. I should have stayed. It wasn’t fair to leave you alone to organize everything.”