A Convenient Bride (36 page)

Without waiting for his reply, Brenna headed off in the direction of Mrs. Turner, forcing Richard to follow. She stepped lively, knowing he was put out by the fact that there wasn’t a single thing he could do about her dress.

“Good evening, Lady Ashwood,” Ellard Smith said, as she passed. The gangly lad was barely out of the schoolroom.

“Good evening, Mister Smith.”

“Good evening, Lady Ashwood,” Lord Brighton said, his gaze falling well below her eyes.

“Good evening, Lord Brighton,” she replied, fighting the urge to take him to task for his rudeness. She’d wanted Richard jealous. This sort of man fit perfectly into her plan.

On and on the greetings went, along the same vein, as Brenna walked across the room. When Richard finally caught her elbow, his grip was tight…and possessive. “You are causing a stir,” he hissed.

She smiled brightly. “Truly? Then I have chosen my gown well.” She stepped toward Mrs. Turner. She was dressed from head to hem in orange, with matching feathers in her hair.

“Good evening, Mrs. Turner. You look fetching tonight.” She did not wait for Richard but took an open seat beside her friend. She indicated the packed ballroom. “Murder has not kept the guests home.”

“Sad business, that,” Mrs. Turner agreed. She looked up at Richard. “Would you mind getting us some punch, Richard?”

Clearly, he did not want to let Brenna out of his sight. But he could not be rude to Mrs. Turner. He bowed, frowned one last time at Brenna, and left.

“Your husband is in a sour state,” Mrs. Turner said. She gave Brenna a look over. “He does not like your gown. He is the only man who doesn’t.”

Eyes widening, Brenna stared. Mrs. Turner shrugged. “I was not always an old woman. There was once a time when I wore things to shock my husband. Sometimes a man needs a reminder that his wife is still able to turn heads.”

Brenna bit her lip. “He is angry.”

“Let him be. His eyes will be on you all night.”

Richard returned with the punch, managed several minutes of polite conversation with Mrs. Turner, then led Brenna away. They greeted friends and acquaintances, and he introduced her to several guests she had not yet met.

“Lady Brenna?” Brenna turned, and her heart skipped.

“Mister Everhart?” Her shock was genuine. After he’d
stolen that kiss and she’d slapped him, she’d hoped to never see him again. Clearly, she hadn’t wished hard enough. “I am surprised to see you here. We are quite a distance from London.”

“I am visiting my nephew, Clive.” He bowed over her hand. His eyes bore into her, as if they shared a salacious secret. “He is staying with his friend Percy, Lord Ponteby. Of course, you know that. I understand that they are frequent guests in your home.”

“Yes, they are.” She broke contact with his eyes and turned to Richard. She introduced the men. They nodded.

“How do you know my wife?” Richard said. Brenna felt his tension. He was jealous of the handsome Mister Everhart.

“We met several times in London.”

Everhart kept his tone even, but Brenna knew he was thinking of the kiss. His eyes were too heated for comfort. The cad.

“We danced,” she said, by way of explanation. She wanted to drag Richard away from the man. However, to do so would raise her husband’s curiosity. Though she did not have any reason to feel shamed or guilty, she did not think Richard would let the matter rest. He’d want to know every detail, and she did not want to discuss the unpleasant encounter.

“I hope you will save me a place on your dance card, Milady,” Everhart said. “I do look forward to dancing with the loveliest woman at the ball.”

He nodded and walked away. Brenna looked up at her husband and saw his jaw tick. “You have no reason to concern yourself about Mister Everhart, Husband. He is not the sort of man I’d wish to call friend.”

“The man raises my suspicions,” Richard said. “I think Jones should look into his past and what day he arrived.”

It took a moment to see the path of his thoughts. “You cannot think Mister Everhart is the killer?”

Even as she protested, she realized the man could not be ruled out. She thought about how well she knew him, and there was not much. She’d heard that he enjoyed the company of women and had a reputation for taking what he wanted from ladies, at no consequence to himself.

At least two young women in the last three years had been
sent to the country, rumored to be carrying his child, though that was unconfirmed. They were both quickly married off soon after. Otherwise, she had not given him much notice before the unwelcome kiss.

“Do you know him well enough to vouch for his character?” Richard asked, his expression accusing.

His tone rankled. She gritted her teeth. “I only bedded him a dozen times after I discovered I was carrying your child. So other than his proclivities in bed, I know very little about the man.”

With that, Brenna stomped off. She spent the next several hours dancing, flirting, and ignoring her husband—that, and keeping her dance partners’ hands in appropriate places. Secretive glances Richard’s way confirmed he was seething. She took immense satisfaction in his anger.

Despite his wish to dance with her, Everhart did not approach her. In fact, she did not see him again all evening. His nephew and friends, including George, were there, and each took a turn with her for country-dances. She did not waltz, fearing the intimacy of the dance would tweak Richard further.

As the evening pushed past midnight, her feet throbbed in her slippers. She decided to step outside to rest before moving on to the next man on her dance card.

Without a shawl, the night air chilled her skin. She walked down the terrace steps and into the garden. Finding a quiet spot with a bench, and well within screaming distance from the house, she sat, slipped off her slippers, and rubbed her feet. A small groan escaped her.

Disappointed in the outcome of the ball brought a frown. The torment of Richard seemed to have failed, and Brenna wanted to stay in the garden so as not to have to face him again.

Perhaps she should forgo the rest of the evening and ask to return home. Her feet would thank her, and her pride had taken enough of a battering for one night. The dress proved unsuccessful. Nothing could rouse her husband to grand passion.

“Waiting for your lover, Wife?”

Brenna startled. Then her surprise turned to annoyance. “I am indeed. So you’d better trot off lest you ruin my secret lovers’ tryst.”

“If I thought Everhart truly was your lover, he’d currently be in need of a physician. If I let him live at all.”

She came to her feet and brought her hands to her hips. “How dare you act like a jealous husband when you have banned yourself from my bed? You want a marriage of convenience, yet you forbid me from taking a lover.”

“I will lock you away before I’d allow that to happen.”

Her temper churned to boiling. She stepped forward and poked him in the chest. “Either you bed me or I will find a man willing to do so. I suspect there are half a dozen men inside who would eagerly do the deed, in a closet or under a bush, if I asked. Perhaps I can even try out a new lover each week. It would certainly add much-needed excitement to my life.”

“Brenna.”

“Do not scowl at me. I am weary of your politeness and your scowls.” She stalked back and forth. “You want me. You don’t want me. You kissed me, but you won’t bed me. You want me to return to London, yet you lead me to believe you want me to stay.” She stopped pacing. “What is it you want, Richard? Do you want a wife of convenience, or do you want a wife in truth, for I am weary of waiting for you to make up your mind. I will have your answer now.”

The long pause that followed shattered her heart. She met his eyes, defeated. “James and I will be packed and gone before sunrise.”

Turning on her heel, she took a step. A hand on her arm brought her to a halt. Richard spun her around and slammed his mouth over hers.

Brenna struggled. He held her in an iron grip. The kiss inflamed her body and ignited a confusing mix of emotions. She wanted to hate him, yet she quickly conceded and kissed him back with days—no, months—of built-up passion inside her.

The kiss in the dower house had not satisfied her need for this man, her husband.

She clawed at his shirt, pulling the hem from his waistband. He tugged at her bodice, freeing her breasts. Brenna walked backward, leading him to the bench, and pulled him down atop her. He broke the kiss and kissed her shoulder, then
her neck, and moved lower still to suck a nipple into his mouth.

Moaning, Brenna reached to open his trousers. His erection sprang free. She lifted her legs, splaying them out like a wanton, uncaring if anyone else was enjoying the garden.

“I want you, Richard; I need you now.”

He grinned, shoved aside layers of underclothes, and sought her damp center. Without preliminaries, he rubbed his hardness against her. She gasped out something that might have been “yes,” and he obliged. He eased inside her with a groan and reclaimed her mouth.

Rocking against her, Brenna gasped again and again as he teased her with both his erection and his fingers. This was no coming together with love, but a mutual mating for passion’s sake. His kiss kept her from crying out when she found her shattering release. Then with a few long strokes, he joined her, shuddering as he spilled himself into her willing body.

With a deep groan, he slumped over her, taking care not to crush her beneath his weight. Brenna slid her hands under his coat and down his back, to where his shirt rode up to expose his lower back. She reveled in the feel of his bare skin.

“I apologize for the speed of our coupling,” he said, with his warm breath against her neck. “It has been some time since our last encounter.”

Brenna freed a hand and eased his head up so she could look into his eyes. “Then you and Bethany are not lovers?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I saw you in the library,” Brenna admitted. She tried to keep her voice emotionless. “I saw her in your arms.”

Richard pushed up off the bench and adjusted his trousers. Then he put her skirts to rights and dragged her onto his lap.

“I have never wanted Bethany. Not before our marriage and certainly not after.”

A heavy weight lifted off of Brenna. Lucy had seen what she could not. “Why, then, have you not shared my bed?”

He cupped her face in his hand. “Beckwith Hall is no place for a lively young woman to live. I cannot ask you to give up the excitement of the city, and the close proximity to your family, to live here with me.”

“I cannot once recall complaining about my life at the
hall.” Brenna now understood his hesitation to reclaim his conjugal rights. A separation would be more difficult were they to share a bed. “I want to be your wife and to raise our son together. I have even become fond of sheep.”

R
ichard held her gaze. Could this be true? Was Brenna satisfied with her lot? “What of your life in London?”

“Unless you intend to lock me up here and never allow me to visit my family, I will spend time in London—with you, I hope.” She played with the hair at his nape. “A few weeks a year should more than satisfy my youthful need for the social whirl.”

“Are you mocking me?”

She leaned in to nip his ear. “Not in the least, love.”

His cock aroused to attention. He hungered to see her naked. The bench was good for no more than a quick romp. He wanted more, much more. Brenna was his. There was no longer a need to keep himself from her.

“Come, Wife.” He slid her from his lap and stood, pulling her to her feet. He bent and lifted her up into his arms. “I have plans for the rest of our evening.”

Brenna let out a small giggle of surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Our coach awaits.” With long strides and the desire to ravish his wife driving him onward, it did not take long to round the house and find the coach. Without more than a clipped instruction to the driver to take them home, he nudged Brenna inside, and they were off.

Taking liberties brought Brenna’s laughter during the too-brief ride. He did not wait for the coachman to alight but helped Brenna down himself. They ran into the house and up the stairs, startling the footman outside his bedroom door, and Nanny when Richard pushed open the door.

“Go to bed, Nanny,” he said, and the woman hurried out. James stirred in his crib, and Brenna went to him before he could awaken fully. Richard went through to his bedroom and disrobed, giving Brenna time to tend to their son.

When he returned, he went to the crib, kissed James on the head, and grinned, finding Brenna on the bed with the sheet
pulled up, barely covering her nipples. Clearly she was wearing nothing beneath.

His cock sprang to attention. With long strides, he hurried to the bed, yanked back the sheet, ogled her nakedness until she flushed pink all over, and then pressed her down on the mattress and took full advantage of her welcoming nature.

T
he sun hadn’t a chance to fully arrive when James awoke his parents with a squawk, followed in short order by a loud and demanding cry. Brenna groaned and dragged herself from the bed, Richard reaching out to caress her bare buttock before her feet found the floor.