Lord Garson’s Bride Read online

  “All the worthwhile qualities.”

  “But none of the glamorous ones.”

  “You could develop those, you know. It’s a matter of confidence and audacity.”

  She responded with a short laugh, although something about his assessing gaze made her shift uncomfortably on the leather seat. “I almost think you mean that.”

  He didn’t smile back. “I do with all my heart.”

  “I appreciate you trying to bolster my spirits.”

  He still didn’t smile. “Susan only tried to upset you, because she’s jealous that you’re stepping out of the shadows at last.”

  Jane couldn’t contain another laugh, although Hugh sounded serious about this nonsense. “Why on earth would she be jealous? She’s got everything she wants. She was a winsome child and a beautiful girl. In her first season, she was counted a diamond of the first water, and she made a love match with a dear man, who also happens to be nicely plump in the pocket. Now she has five high-spirited children.” Who were spoiled little horrors, but she wasn’t going into that now. “Whereas I’ve been on the shelf for years, and she’s well aware you and I aren’t in love. No, you’re wrong about Susan, but I’m grateful that you’re on my side. It’s very…husbandly.”

  His lips flattened, but instead of continuing the argument, he sent her a searching glance. “I’m always on your side, Jane. I hope you know that.”

  She met that somber, dark brown gaze, and any urge to object dissipated. “Thank you.”

  As she turned back to the window, she found herself agreeing with Susan. Any woman would be lucky to marry Hugh Rutherford.

  *

  Chapter Six

  *

  Wearing a heavy crimson silk dressing gown over his nakedness, Garson knocked at the bedroom door. On the way home after Jane had agreed to marry him, he’d stopped here at the Red Lion in Salisbury and reserved their best set of rooms for his wedding night.

  If Morwenna waited for him, he’d be burning with eagerness. But while he wasn’t mad with desire, the more he saw of Jane, the more pleased he was with his choice. The prospect of holding his bride in his arms was surprisingly appealing.

  He’d always thought of her fondly. She’d been a plucky, open-hearted child, and he admired her devotion to her family. But over the years, he’d forgotten the hint of salt that enlivened her sweetness. And he was avid to discover the secrets of her body. That purple traveling ensemble she wore when they left Cavell Court had clung close enough to remind him of her magnificent figure.

  He’d never appreciated the fashion for little dolls like Susan. He preferred a woman with a bit of heft to her. Jane was long of limb, with a superb, deep bosom. She looked like a woman who could give a man a run for his money.

  He was about to find out if that was true. When he heard her soft invitation to enter, he felt unexpectedly keen.

  Jane was sitting up in bed, looking terrified.

  Dear God.

  “Jane, are you all right?” He stepped forward, then stopped where he stood when she shrank back against the carved oak headboard and clasped the blankets to her chest.

  “Yes,” she said in a quavery voice.

  “You don’t sound it,” he said with a smile, hoping to ease the room’s fraught atmosphere.

  Her delicate throat moved as she swallowed. That thick white nightgown was the least bridal garment he’d seen in his life. It covered her to the collarbones.

  Her hair almost made up for all that flannel. He couldn’t help staring entranced at the mane of rich red flowing over her shoulders. He’d often pictured her hair unbound, but this abundant beauty stole his breath. His heart began to beat faster, and the call of pleasure inched aside the command of duty.

  “I promised I’d do my part,” she said in a reedy voice utterly unlike her usual mellow contralto.

  He glanced across at the dinner he’d had sent up. He’d assumed she’d want time to rest and gather her thoughts before he came to her. When they reached the inn, he’d noted her exhaustion. She still looked exhausted, and scared out of her wits as well.

  “I know you did.” Instead of approaching her, he crossed to the tray. “You didn’t eat much.”

  She hadn’t eaten anything, from what he could see.

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  Whereas he’d made a hearty meal. It had been a long day, and as the bridegroom, he hadn’t had much chance to eat at the wedding breakfast. Nor had Jane, as far as he’d been able to tell.

  As he stared unseeing at the array of dishes, he had a horrible premonition that his wife might greet the morrow as virginal as she was now.

  A howl of denial jammed in his throat. He was astonished at how piercing his disappointment was. He hadn’t had a woman since he’d decided to marry Jane, and he’d looked forward to ending seven months of celibacy.

  Cheer up, man. Too early to admit defeat.

  First things first. She needed to eat something. The soup had congealed into slop. The stew was cold and unappetizing, too, with a shiny layer of grease surrounding the meat. Bread and cheese might fit the bill.

  He put a makeshift meal together. “You need to keep your strength up.”

  “I thought the man does most of the work.”

  Despite his grim mood, he laughed. There was that salt again. “I wasn’t just thinking about the marital act.”

  He poured two glasses of wine. The inn sold a fine claret. He’d enjoyed a glass downstairs before he’d come up to change into his dressing gown.

  Garson returned to the bed. He passed Jane the plate and put the glass of wine on the bedside table.

  She regarded the food without enthusiasm. “I’m really not hungry.”

  “Have some wine at least.” He sat on the bed, watching her.

  She set the food aside on top of the blankets and lifted the glass without drinking. “Will this be easier if I’m foxed?”

  “It will be easier if you don’t shatter like glass.”

  A rueful smile turned her lips downward. Jane’s mouth was pink and full, with a perfectly cut upper lip and a lushly curved lower lip. How the devil had he never noticed that before?

  “Is it so obvious?”

  As obvious as a poke in the eye, but he forbore from saying so. “You’re looking a tad wan.”

  It was a massive understatement. She was whiter than the inn’s linen, and in a fine hostelry like the Red Lion, the linen was bleached to within an inch of its life. The only color in the room seemed to be that rich fall of red hair. He refused to believe that a woman with such a brazen wealth of hair had no sensuality in her.

  Of course she did. But only careful handling would coax it out.

  She made an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d take our arrangement in my stride, once I got used to the idea. In the last ten years, when awful things happened, I muddled through by girding up my loins and tackling the problems as best I can.”

  Awful things? Hell, she really wasn’t happy about this marriage, was she? Did he have Susan to blame for this nervousness, or had Jane’s uncertainty when he proposed burgeoned into panic during his absence? She’d held herself together through the difficult day, but perhaps he should put that down to pride. “Do girls have loins?”

  She shrugged and mustered an unconvincing smile. “You know what I mean.”

  He did. Better than she probably wanted him to. “You’ve been so brave, Jane.”

  Another of those bleak little smiles. “I’m not feeling brave right now.”

  “Am I really so frightening?”

  Fleeting color rose in her cheeks. It faded to leave her paler than before. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

  With a sigh, he collected his glass and shifted to a massive oak chair near the blazing fire. He didn’t miss how the line of her shoulders loosened when he moved away. “No, I am. I shouldn’t have abandoned you to fall victim to your fears.”

  She stared down to where her hands pleated the edge
of the sheets. It seemed to be a characteristic habit when she was jittery. “I’m sure it’s just fear of the unknown. And I’ve been so busy since you visited, that I really didn’t think much past leaving home after the wedding.”

  He doubted if that was true, but it allowed him to change the subject to something that might banish the dread from his bride’s eyes. Although it was hardly likely to make her smile either. “I know you found it hard to leave Cavell Court.”

  His instincts had led him aright. Those fidgeting fingers paused and flattened on the sheet. “I’d feel better if I thought Felix will be a diligent master, but unless he’s changed, he’ll just use the estate to support the grand life he’s always considered his right. Priscilla won’t be any sort of moderating influence.”

  “The new Lady Sefton is as silly as a duckling in a thunderstorm.”

  This time the smile was a little more sincere. “Two ducklings.”

  “I’d help if I could,” he said, meaning it.

  At last she looked at him without flinching. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that.” He grimaced. “It makes me feel about ninety.”

  “But you are kind. You always have been. When you were a boy, you were always rescuing puppies and kittens from the local louts.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve grown up since then.”

  She watched him with an unreadable expression. “Have you?”

  He frowned. “Don’t say you’re equating yourself with those scrawny, flea-bitten strays. God give me strength, I told you—you did me a favor marrying me.”

  “Yes, you did tell me.” To his surprise, amusement brightened her face. “I’ll wager Beardsley Hall is full to the brim of rescued animals.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “No more than most places.”

  That was true, although not many of the animals were able-bodied. He couldn’t resist a creature in distress. Which didn’t bloody well mean he’d married Jane because he felt sorry for her.

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. I always admired your readiness to face a beating to save a fellow creature.” She paused. “Although you grew so big so fast, most of the time, you just had to turn up to get your way.”

  “Good Lord, I was the size of a house before I was sixteen. I used to tread all over your toes when I asked you to dance.”

  “You just needed to learn how to manage your size. I’m sure you no longer trample your partners’ slippers.” To his relief, she lifted the wineglass to her lips. Revisiting childhood memories was helping to blunt the edge of her fear. He also hoped it reminded her that they were far from strangers. She mightn’t have thought of him as a lover, but their history together stretched back many years.

  “You’ll find out for yourself. I’d like to hold a ball at Beardsley to introduce my wife to the neighbors.” He went on before she raised any objections. “I know you’re going to miss Cavell Court and your friends and neighbors. But we’ll make a new, full life in Derbyshire. The estate is prosperous, and we’re close enough to Derby for a bit of society. I’m also hoping you’ll make the house your own. It’s a fine old manor, but it hasn’t had a chatelaine since my mother died twelve years ago. It desperately needs a woman’s touch.”

  With every word, Jane looked more cheerful. She was a vital, active woman. She’d enjoy taking the reins at his home.

  “I remember.” She picked up a piece of bread and cheese. “Not that Beardsley was neglected, but that it was a lovely place. I used to enjoy going there when I was a girl. Do you remember our visits?”

  He watched her demolish the humble meal he’d prepared and felt as proud as if he’d defeated Napoleon singlehanded. “I do. With pleasure.”

  “I’m surprised. You must have thought I was a tiresome little girl.”

  “You were never tiresome, Jane,” he said sincerely, although Susan, even then, had been a nuisance, especially when she was old enough to test her wiles on any males in the vicinity. “I recall you spent a lot of time reading.”

  “That makes me sound so dull.” When she emptied her wineglass, he rose to fill it. She’d relaxed to a point where she didn’t cower when he loomed closer. He was damned pleased. He hated to see her afraid of him.

  “Not at all. I thought you were frightfully clever.”

  The disgusted face she made had him laughing. “That’s even worse than dull.”

  “Not at all. I never liked empty-headed poppets.” He frowned suddenly. “Do you mind the age difference?”

  She looked surprised. “Of course not. Six years to a girl in the schoolroom is a huge gap. But not now we’ve both grown up. You’re in the prime of life, Hugh.”

  Garson wished to hell he felt like he was. Three dreary years had left him feeling old and jaded. Disappointment had a way of sucking the vitality out of a man.

  “I’m glad you think so.” Inevitably his glance dropped to her sumptuous bosom. As she’d settled down, she’d stopped clutching the covers as if to fend off a vile seducer.

  His grip on his glass tightened as he itched to unveil the glories concealed beneath that flannel tent. In the candlelight, she became prettier by the moment. The frozen expression had seeped away, and he found himself fascinated by her full lips and the soft, silvery shine of her eyes.

  She had beautiful white skin. Was she that perfect pearly shade all over? A hunger to find out flooded him, all the more overwhelming because it was unexpected. He took a mouthful of wine and let its flavor feed his senses. His body stirred with the beginnings of genuine interest.

  And there was that extravagant hair. In the flickering light, it encompassed every shade of red from garnet to russet. He’d always loved her hair. Jane’s beauty was subtle. So subtle it had taken him far too long to recognize its power. Now he did, the night extended ahead, promising a satisfaction he’d never imagined when he’d proposed marriage three weeks ago.

  Even better, she no longer looked paralyzed with dread.

  *

  Chapter Seven

  *

  Keeping his moves easy—he’d worked with enough skittish horses to know that any sudden shifts spooked them—Garson rose and set his half-empty glass on the mantel. He kept his voice even, too. “You looked lovely today.”

  Jane made a self-deprecating gesture. “Thank you, but that’s all because of the dresses Susan brought down from London. I’m afraid in recent years, fashion has passed me by, and all my clothes were dyed for mourning when Papa died.”

  “I’ll take you to London for the season.” Had she noticed that he’d edged closer to the bed?

  Her expression was a charming mixture of uncertainty and anticipation. “I still don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Every modiste in the West End will fight to get their hands on the new Lady Garson.”

  A faint smile curved her lips. “I would love some nice clothes and the chance to make new friends.”

  “The world is your oyster, Jane.”

  Her smile deepened. “I don’t like oysters.”

  “You’ll like your new life.” He sat on the bed, close enough for his hip to brush hers through the blankets. “I’ll do my best to make sure you do.”

  “Thank you, Hugh,” she said softly, without moving away.

  “No, thank you, Jane.” When he took her hand, the silvery eyes widened.

  He’d held her hand plenty of times, at least since he’d been hauled in to assist at her dancing lessons. Today, he’d taken her hand in the church. And at the wedding breakfast.

  But it felt strange—special—to sit on Jane’s bed, cradling her cool fingers in his. He began to rub her hand, brushing his thumb over her wedding ring. The way his large hands encompassed hers was oddly stirring. She was so delightfully feminine and delicate. Knowing she was his wife suddenly seemed a fine thing indeed, by Jove. “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He found himself hoping that was true in every sense. Because with
every minute, his impulses toward his bride became more heated. He raised her smooth, white hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. The scent of lavender teased his nostrils, and underneath, a hint of Jane herself. When his lips glanced across her skin, she bit her lower lip.

  “Better?”

  She swallowed as she nodded. He was close enough to see the movement of her throat and the rise of her chest as she inhaled. Too quickly. She was becoming uneasy again.

  Garson slipped a gentle hand around the back of her neck. To his surprise, his breath caught as he encountered the silky ripple of her hair. Desire kicked his heart into a gallop. Whatever his reasons for proposing, right now, he was eager to discover the secrets his shy bride concealed beneath her demure air.

  Who would have thought he’d be so mad for little Jane Norris?

  Except little Jane Norris was a woman grown now. A devilish attractive one at that. What a blasted fool he was, never to have seen that before. Even wrapped up in enough white flannel to sail a clipper to India, she set his blood afire.

  The muscles under his fingers were tight, and he began to stroke, warming and softening her into readiness. She didn’t try to escape, but she was far from comfortable with this change from conversation to seduction.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day,” he murmured.

  Her eyes became even wider, so he felt like he drowned in a cool, silver lake. Her pupils dilated to turn her eyes dark. This close, her skin was extraordinary. Against that pure alabaster, the dark auburn eyelashes and brows were striking.

  “You kissed me at the church,” she said unsteadily.

  He had. Briefly. “I never do my best work in front of an audience.”

  Her lips quirked. “Is that so?”

  “Let me prove it.”

  She retreated a fraction against the pillows. He felt it. Then she went still, except for a faint tremor running through her. He doubted he’d know she was shaking, if his hand hadn’t rested on her nape.

  Garson waited for her to speak, perhaps ask for a reprieve, but apart from the ragged saw of air through her parted lips, she remained silent.