A Lady's Vanishing Choices (18 page)

He intended to have her cooperation. An apology was a very small price to pay for what he would gain—her acceptance.

“I’ve come from Birdelwood Manor. I went there to arrange our marriage. The ceremony will take place Friday in the village chapel at four o’clock.”

“But . . .”

“Let me finish,” he advised and continued, “Your uncle and the entire family shall be in attendance.” He shot a look from under his brows.

Disbelief seemed to have suspended her voice for a moment. “Uncle Arthur didn’t say anything?”

“He had plenty to say, but I convinced him it would be in your best interest.”

Bitterness spilled forth in her tone. “Ha. He’s never in his entire life cared about my best interest.”

“Bethany,” he said in a tender voice. “You shall belong to me. He’ll no longer hold sway over you. You shall be a Carrington, part of my family—Lady Rivton.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak. “But . . .”

“Not another word. Accept my proposal,” he ordered.

“I wasn’t arguing.”

He wanted this marriage above all else. A satisfied smile curved his lips. “Your choices seemed to have vanished. You made the wise one. And you shan’t be allowed to cry off.”

Chapter 21

Bethany, dressed in a lovely ivory gown of watered silk, stared down the aisle of the church where Royce waited at the altar. This seemed so unreal, and she feared she would wake to find she’d only dreamed the whole.

The delicate fragrance of roses, banked on each side of the altar, floated to her with a wave of welcome. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows bathing the altar cloth in soft colors. Candelabras flanked the altar on either side, spilling candlelight down the royal blue runner in the middle aisle.

Every detail seemed perfect, yet a mild case of nerves quickened her breath. She glanced at the pew where Maggie sat, gathering strength and courage from her nearness. Royce stood, waiting for her, his expression guarded.
There is no turning back now, even if I wished to do so.
She hugged her mother’s Bible to her breast for comfort. Recalling when she watched her mother write Bethany Ann Littleton inside the cover filled her with warmth.

Doubt fled when Royce took her hand while the priest intoned, “To have and to hold from this day forward.”

The words pierced deep into Royce’s heart. Bethany was his wife now. A deep abiding swell of emotions moved in his chest while he exchanged vows with her. He sighed and placed his ring on her finger. Relief washed over him when he glanced down at her. What God had joined together, no one could put asunder. His breath caught in his throat. In his eyes, she had never appeared more beautiful. He could hardly wait to claim her as his bride, to remove all that delicate lace, to expose her glorious curves to his gaze and his touch.

Maggie sat in the first pew and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. Ed sat down beside her with one arm around her plump shoulders. After the brief ceremony, she stood and hugged Bethany. Maggie turned to Lord Rivton. “I’m thanking ya for taking my little love.” She took his hand and patted the back. “I love her. Now, she’ll be safe. Protected like.”

Bethany turned to her new husband and caught his hand. She sighed when she gazed at him. Married for better or worse. She hoped she’d left worse behind, she hoped for better in the future. She admitted simply looking at her husband caused her toes to curl. He was a hard man to understand, and she prayed their marriage would turn out well.

A quiet gathering of a few friends and family members followed to Stroter Hall. Uncle Arthur, Aunt Gertrude, and Eleanor all attended, if not with happy smiles on their faces, with complacency. Uncle Arthur mingled with the guests seemingly well pleased. Aunt Gertrude found a cozy chair while Eleanor flirted with Charles under her mama’s watchful eye.

The vicar’s daughter, Linda, also attended, escorted by her betrothed, a very handsome man with dark, curly hair. All smiles, Linda brought him forward for an introduction to Bethany.

Linda grabbed Bethany’s hands and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m so very happy for you.” With a besotted expression, she turned to the man at her side and giggled. “May I introduce you to, Laurent Harcourt, my betrothed.”

Laurent bowed over Bethany’s hand and kissed her fingers. “I’m happy to meet you at long last. I had to disappoint Linda when I found it impossible to attend his lordship’s ball.”

Bethany laughed and glanced at Linda. Bethany could understand the other girl’s witless obsession with her beau. He was a handsome gentleman, obviously of French descent—a fact Linda failed to mention before. Bethany met the Frenchman’s stare, finding his gaze piercing and intense. His close regard left her unsettled and filled with unease. She broke eye contact, but the sensation of being closely scrutinized lingered.

When Linda turned to Laurent, a swift flood of pink colored her cheeks. “This is my dear friend, Bethany Littleton. I mean, Carrington, Lady Rivton. I believe you know Lord Rivton.”

Laurent nodded.

“This is the first time we have been formally introduced.” Royce executed a small bow of acknowledgment. “Bethany, we must do the pretty to all our guests, not only to the special ones.” He smiled at Linda. “If you will excuse us.” He tossed a quick nod towards Harcourt and steered Bethany away from the couple.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Did my sneer show in my eyes?”

Bethany whispered back. “I noticed. So no more sneers. She is my friend.”

“I’ll say this for the man. His peacock stance suits his too handsome face to perfection.”

“Oh, Royce.” Bethany watched his gaze travel back to Laurent and inspect him from his dark, curly hair to the old-fashioned ruffles at his throat and cuffs down to his buckled boots. She admitted Laurent appeared entirely French, graceful and charming, an appropriate representative for a member of a French émigré family. Royce’s expression mirrored his personal dislike of the man.

She tugged on his arm and pulled Royce away before he alienated her friend completely. After congratulations were offered, the wedding guests begin to take their leave. The last of the champagne had been served and consumed. All of the delicacies were eaten and people pushed toward the doors, calling for their carriages.

When the last of the vehicles rolled down the drive and out of sight, Bethany sighed, “It was a lovely wedding.”

“Indeed. Let us retire for the night.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs.

Clutching her hands together to keep her fingers from trembling, she watched Royce out of the corner of her eye.

Royce had always appeared a strong, capable, virile male animal. He must have needs, needs she longed to fill, needs she was determined to satisfy. Her body quickened at his nearness, bringing a flood of heat to her cheeks. The lingering fragrance of shave lather wafted to her. The warmth of his embrace tingled down her spine. Never had she been more conscious of her body, bare beneath the thin wisp of her night-rail.

Maggie had assured her that men could love one woman and have no trouble taking another to his bed. Although he didn’t love her and married her for duty’s sake, he wouldn’t reject her on this, her wedding night.

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. Planting little kisses down her cheek, he caressed her chin and throat. A tiny drumbeat of her pulse accelerated in her ears until no other sound penetrated. She found herself stretched out beneath him without remembering how she had found her way to the bed.

She raised a hand to his face and whispered, “Royce.”

The heat in his gaze burned into her and his desire blazed into a consuming fire. It reached out with melting intensity, drawing her into the flames. He kissed her lips with drugging, possessive pressure. She wanted to be possessed, to have his body become one with hers. Arching convulsively against him, she pressed him to her. She lost the ability to think coherently in a limbo where the only realities were his hands, his mouth, and his tongue while he caressed hers. Each thrust of his hard body drove deeper and deeper until at last, they fused together with an aching tension exploding into rapture. She floated back to reality when he pulled a coverlet over them.

“Sleep now. You’re safe. You belong to me completely.”

His reassurances held a hollow ring somehow. What had she expected him to say—that he loved her? Such a silly widgeon she was to have such thoughts.
Nothing so nonsensical shall ever happen.

He rolled to his side, and she wanted to hit him for not understanding her need for reassurance. Sighing, she knew how he regarded her—with tolerance. Knowing that, she should have been prepared. At least he hadn’t rejected her, but she wouldn’t tamely submit to a loveless marriage and crumbs of affection either. No indeed. She would scheme and plot to gain what she wanted. Maggie was the very person to assist in her plans, and she couldn’t wait to invite Maggie to join in her games. Closing her eyes, she courted sleep and finally drifted away on a dream.

The next morning she woke with a start when the sun peeked through the drapes directly into her eyes. When she began to move, her body protested. Married. She was married. Then why was she alone? She pulled the bell-cord and scrambled out of bed. She would visit Maggie today, but first she intended to greet her husband. From this day forward, she would remind him that he had a wife.

After hurrying with her ablutions, she entered the breakfast parlor and sank into a chair across from Royce. She smiled. “Morning.”

He returned her smile with a lazy lift of his lips. “And to you. How are you today?”

“Splendid. I would like to go into Chadwick this morning.”

Royce hesitated for a long moment and scrutinized her expression. “Very well. Take Hopkins with you.”

“Hopkins, why? I’ve traveled to the village by myself for years.”

“Because I said so. Besides, no one has tried to do away with you before, have they?” He raised his brows and his question rang with sarcasm.

“No, I suppose not.” Somewhat dashed down, she averted her gaze.

“I have a young mare that will be suitable for you to ride. I’ll have her saddled right after you meet with the staff.”

In a small voice, she said, “I don’t ride.”

“Not ride. Why ever not?”

“Because Uncle Arthur is such a skinflint. He said he couldn’t afford another animal eating its head off. So I haven’t ridden since I was ten years old.” She sipped at her coffee and nibbled a bite of toast.

“All you need is a little experience. We’ll take it slow and easy. Right after you change.”

“I don’t possess anything suitable for riding, either,” she informed him over the rim of her cup.

“You must have something that will do.” He stood to leave the room, beckoning her to follow.

After he had inspected every stitch of her wardrobe, he turned away in disgust. “For pity’s sake. None of that will do for riding lessons—or anything else.” He waved one hand at the offending apparel.

“You know I don’t have anything else. You’ve seen everything.” She glanced at the floor, shamed as never before at the lack in her wardrobe. “You are nearly as sensitive as a dead dog.”

He chuckled. “A dead dog, eh?”

She nodded and gave him a good glare.

“We’ll need to postpone your riding lessons until an outfit can be arranged. You might borrow something from Eleanor.” Giving her a bland stare, he half turned toward the door.

“No, thank you.” Her lips thinned and her chin rose in defiance. She raked him with a heated gaze. “I’ve worn her discarded clothes from the day she grew taller than I.”

“You intend to defy me on the first day of our marriage? What happened to the obey portion?”

“I didn’t hear that part clearly,” she scoffed. Her fine brows arched in question. “So?”

He turned slowly to fully face her and his gaze locked with hers. Her bristled stance and open defiance caused his jaw to clench. In a battle of wills, he would always win, and best she accept that truth at once. He meant to bring her to a more reasonable frame of mind, gently if possible, but with whatever means necessary to prevail. She would submit to him—in all ways. He would not tolerate her open rebellion. He would teach her that she belonged to him and only him. He wanted to cherish her, but until she leaned that valuable lesson, he would be forced reluctantly to use stern methods. It’s for her good.

His teeth clenched. “Until you are suitably clothed for riding, suspend your visits to Chadwick.”

Her eyes glistened with moisture. “You are being a beast. I could take the gig.”

Hissing a heavy breath between gritted teeth, he deepened his voice. “I wish otherwise.”

An abrupt and sustained silence filled the room while he surveyed her with a dark scowl. Why isn’t she intimidated? He didn’t seem to have made any impression at all.

She glared back at him. “Does that hurt?”

“What?”

“Talking through your teeth like that? You do it all the time.”

He threw his head back and laughed. Indeed. He didn’t want her intimidated after all. Gathering her stiff form to his chest, he brushed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ve got to hand it to you, my sweet. You never give up, do you?”

“Rarely. If I had not persevered—stubborn to the bone, my uncle always said—I doubt I would still be alive. Every time Uncle Arthur or Aunt Gertrude came the ugly with me and I objected in the least, I was accused of suffering from an excess of sensibility, or a simple irritation of the nerves. When keeping my mouth shut was the only thing that answered . . . that’s what I did.”

His stomach clenched with anger at Arthur. He wanted to throttle the bounder. Royce fought to control his emotions, drew a deep breath and released her. With a few long strides, he reached the door. He flung over his shoulder, “Why not come to the stable and get acquainted with your mare?”

He stood there, staring at her with one raised brow. It would help if he explained his actions, but his own stubbornness stilled his tongue. His fist clenched at his side. If he were to keep her safe, she must follow his lead. Royce watched her and slapped his riding quirt against his thigh several times. He wouldn’t let her sway him. Still, he could deal a sight better with his bride.

Quickly he stepped over to her and offered a crooked grin. “Look, Bethany, my great-aunt was about your size. I trust you won’t suffer a spasm if I suggest you might wear one of her costumes. She was an avid horsewoman, so there’s bound to be some such apparel packed away in the attics.” His grin remained in place when he raised one brow in question.
I shall never understand women, especially my woman.

A tremulous smile touched her lips. “That would be lovely. You’re not leaving me behind after all.”