His Perfect Game (13 page)

Abigail almost took the opportunity to ask more questions, but Braiden chose that moment to approach. She had not seen much of her brother these past few days, but she could tell something had altered his opinion of Lord Merrick.

“Well, little sister, you are married now.” Braiden sat down beside her.

“I am.”

“Nothing will be the same without you here. Mother and Father will not know what to do with themselves, and my visits will be dull.”

“You overstate my importance.” Abigail smiled, always happy to hear how her brother valued her.

“So you will be moving to the country in a short while.”

“As of now, that is the plan.” Abigail bit her lip, distressed to discover the news had traveled past her mother and Julia. If her husband intended to go back on his word, she didn’t know how she would explain it.

“You will continue to write to me, correct? I have enjoyed your weekly letters more than I can say.”

“Of course.” Abigail swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. Although pleased to escape her father, she would miss her mother and brother. “Will you come visit me at Merrick? My husband informed me I could entertain visitors.”

“You can count on it. When you are ready for a visitor, let me know, and I will be there.”

Her brother smiled, and she felt transported to the years before when they were inseparable. Their relationship would never be like that again. Tearing her gaze from him, she tried to shake off her emotions. The day had proved trying enough without adding to it with nostalgic memories. Before long, her reprieve ended, and she stood, ready to play the part of happy bride.

The remainder of the evening passed uneventfully. During the ball, she danced every set and still had dance requests she had to deny for lack of time. Her feet burned and her body ached, but she had long ago learned to keep her physical pain hidden.

As they entered her new home, only two servants stood waiting for them. She felt grateful there wasn’t another huge ordeal she would have to endure.

“Due to the late hour, I requested the other servants be sent to bed,” Lord Merrick informed her. “Allow me to introduce Holland, our butler, and Mrs. Boart, the housekeeper.” Then he turned to Holland and Mrs. Boart. “This is Lady Willimena Thorpe, Viscountess Merrick.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Abigail greeted as they bowed.

“I’m sure you are exhausted, my lady. Please allow me to direct you to your bedchamber,” Mrs. Boart offered.

Abigail glanced over to her husband for permission, but he looked at her with his eyebrows raised. She could not believe he gave her the choice. Her father always answered for her mother, even to the servants.

“I would be most appreciative.” Abigail followed Mrs. Boart while the men stayed behind. As she turned to go up the stairs, she peeked back at her husband. His eyes fixed upon her with an intensity that made her tremble. He may be allowing her to leave now, but her escape would be temporary.

Entering the opulent bedchamber, Abigail gasped. The furnishings appeared new and must have cost a vast sum. The room, being decorated in deep green and gold, suited her fine, and she smiled in wonder at her husband’s consideration. Crossing to the bed, she ran her fingers along the silken coverlet, exalting in the texture.

“Sandra was hired to assist you in the future, but tonight I would be pleased to help you.”

As Mrs. Boart approached her, panic rose in Abigail’s chest. It would not be wise to allow any of the staff to be aware of her armor or the true color of her hair. The repercussions of not having Mary here suddenly assaulted her.

“Thank you,” Abigail said hesitantly. “If you could simply unfasten the back, I believe I can manage the rest.”

“There is no need. I would be happy to help you remove the gown. I’m sure it’s heavy.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, but as the hour is late, I would prefer you get your rest.” Abigail could see the fight and determination set in the woman’s face. “I believe my husband would agree if he were here.”

At the mention of Lord Merrick, Mrs. Boart stopped. Her face softened and a knowing smile touched her lips.

“I see. Just turn around, and I’ll unfasten you.”

Abigail’s face burned in mortification, but she nodded and did as told. Although she would have liked to correct the woman’s mistaken assumption, not having to further explain took precedence. The idea that everyone knew what would happen to her tonight made her stomach roll.

“All done,” Mrs. Boart announced. “I’ll leave you then. If you need anything, just ring for me.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Boart nodded then left Abigail alone with the huge gown. As soon as the door clicked shut, she slid the bodice down and off her arms. She sighed at the immediate relief in her shoulders. Not wanting to be in the gown another second, she grasped the fabric around her waist and pulled up. Nothing happened.

She simply could not lift the top of the dress higher than her bosom. She was far too fatigued. After several minutes of helplessly struggling, she slipped her hands under the gown and unfastened her petticoats, pushing them off her hips. With the resistance gone, the gown caved in on itself, allowing her freedom. With a sense of relief, she stepped out of the gown then left the pile of clothes on the floor as she quickly removed her armor then hid it in the bottom of her trunk.

As she donned her nightdress, she contemplated her situation. There were only two options she could see. The first would be to confess her deception to her husband and forgo her armor in the future. Second, she could pray her new maid, Sandra, being recently hired, could be trustworthy and become an ally. She decided the latter sounded like a better option. No one would be allowed to help her dress but Sandra.

The next complication was her hair. If she slept with the powder, it would damage the silken sheets and raise questions with the servants. However, washing it would allow the red to show. Her husband would be here tonight. If he saw her without her armor and with red hair, would he be angry? Surely tonight wasn’t the night for confessions.

Sighing, she made her way to the basin of water. Normally washing her long hair took a good amount of time, but as she had no idea how much she had, she did her best to clean out as much as possible. Then she wrapped a towel around her head to dry her hair.

She approached the bed and untied the curtains. If she could limit the amount of light in the room, she may be able to survive the night without too many explanations. Some things, like her body size, were unavoidable, but she hoped he would be a gentleman and not ask.

When her tasks were done, she tossed the towel behind the dressing screen, ran a brush through her hair, then blew out the candle on the night table. The room went black. Feeling surrounded by the darkness and the fear of what was to come, she dashed behind the curtain and under the covers.

With nothing left to do but wait, her body trembled and tears stung her eyes. Although exhaustion assaulted her and sleep beckoned her, terror kept them at bay. She would have no rest tonight.

Chapter 7

Greyson tossed back his brandy then crossed the room to pour another. Giving in to temptation, he brought the decanter to his desk. His attempt to limit his drinking by keeping distance between him and the bottle wasn’t working anyway. Pouring a glass, he slowly swirled the liquid around.

His bride, his wife, waited for him upstairs, yet he remained downstairs locked in his study. How could he even think of joining her, knowing she detested him? In all his planning, he’d never contemplated the effects his maneuvering would have on the wedding night.

Anger filled him, tightening his grip on the glass. The burn of the alcohol down his throat only enraged him further. He didn’t make a habit of drinking alone, but here he was, doing his best to finish off an entire bottle. After an inner battle, he controlled the urge to hurl the offending glass across the room.

Slamming the glass down, he ripped off his cravat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. What was he supposed to do? If his wife lay awake waiting for him, his delay or lack of entrance would only prolong her torture. Sighing, he knew the answer. It had to be done tonight.

He dragged his feet up the stairs as he made his way to his bedchamber. Although anxious for this to be over, he could not stifle the sense of dread coursing through him. Tomorrow would be better, or that is what he kept telling himself. However, if she hated him even more after tonight, no amount of tomorrows would improve his situation.

Once inside his bedchamber, he removed his boots then continued to strip off items until he stood in only his shirt and trousers. An odd thought struck him, leaving his hands hovering over the hem of his shirt. How should he be attired when he joined his wife in her bed?

Arriving unclothed or only in his dressing gown appeared too eager, but being fully clothed was impractical. With all his previous encounters, clothing had not been an issue, and he’d never given the decision a moment’s thought. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he held his face in his hands. Why had he neglected to plan this night until it was too late? The alcohol he’d consumed that day had had its effect, and had left his mind unable to see as clearly as usual.

Then it struck him. He only had to breech her maidenhood, and their marriage would be consummated. Arriving in his current state of dress would ensure the least amount of contact. Therefore, lessen his desire to continue. The whole ordeal would be over in a matter of seconds.

Filled with purpose, Greyson stood, then went in search of the cream Melisande gave him. The additional moisture it provided would ease the passage for an untried woman. Shoving the jar into his pocket, he opened the door joining his room to his wife and stepped into the blackness.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw faint outlines in the minimal moonlight. The room smelled fresh from the new rugs and furnishings he’d purchased for his bride. He wondered if she approved, but now wasn’t the time to find out.

Striding forward, he noticed the curtains around the bed had been drawn in a silent protest to his presence. She’d hidden herself inside as if he would be unable to find her. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself this was his right. He wasn’t a villain breaking in to violate an innocent.

As he slowly drew the curtain back, he realized he could not see inside at all. Part of him wanted to remove the curtains and light a candle, but he knew leaving it thus would offer her comfort.

“Lord Merrick?” The squeaky voice sounded nothing like the woman who’d presented herself well today, despite her reluctance to marriage.

“Yes?” He slid the sheet back and lowered himself beside his warm wife.

“I . . . I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” Her words came out muffled, as if she held the sheets over her head.

His heart sank. She thought him a villain. He wished an easier way existed, but as her main objection was him, he could do nothing to assuage her discomfort.

“You didn’t have to wait for me. I would have awakened you if you fell asleep.” He heard her sharp intake of breath.

Greyson paused. Although he sat beside her, she had not moved from her original position, and with the sheets pulling across his lap, he could picture her with her face under them. How could he initiate anything with her hiding from him?

Turning his body toward her, he grasped the sheets and drew them from her and slowly down her body. She didn’t make a sound. In their current positions, he could easily get this over with, but he wanted to ease her. He didn’t want her to fear him.

“Why don’t you sit up?” he suggested. After a brief hesitation, he heard the rustling of sheets, indicating she’d complied.

He reached out and found her shoulder and although he felt her wince, he didn’t retreat. Instead, he slowly slid his hand upward to cup her face. As he encouraged her forward, he leaned down to press his lips to hers. She jumped, but he held her firm. Within a few seconds, she kissed him back.

Without any coaxing, she opened her mouth to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her hesitant exuberance shocked and excited him. This kiss wasn’t given in obedience to her father. This kiss she offered as a gift to him. Slipping his arm around her waist, he dragged her across the bed to settle against his body. He groaned as she fit against him perfectly.

Her warmth assaulted him and made him want more. His hands gingerly caressed her back as he held her close. She stiffened, but didn’t pull back. Something was different. Ignoring the thought, he allowed himself to give in to the sensations. Her lips were frantic on his as her fingers dug into his shoulders. As her honey scent flooded him, his body grew hard with longing.

Abruptly, he jerked back and looked down in horror. This woman wasn’t his wife. Not only was she too petite, but her scent lacked the earthiness he had grown accustomed to.

Rage boiled within him. All this time he worried about sparing her and easing her way, and she schemed to get away from him. Everything, from the darkness to her eagerness had been a setup intended to lure him to the wrong woman. He would not stand for it. “Who are you, and where is my wife?” he demanded.

“Wh-What do you mean? I am your wife.”

He frowned then blew out a breath. Her voice sounded too similar to be fabricated. Frustrated, he shifted away, determined to get a candle and see for himself.

“Wait” She tugged on his arm to stop him. “I can explain.”

Interested, he turned back to her. “I’m listening.”

He heard her swallow and the sounds of her moving on the sheets. His earlier decision to forgo the light had not been well thought out, although he had no way of knowing his wife would change into someone else that night.

“I never intended to get married, as you know. The padding in my clothing aided me to that end, as I was often overlooked. In the years following my debut into Society, it had offered me protection in its familiarity. I think of it as my armor.”

Greyson’s mouth dropped open. Why would a woman go through such lengths to avoid a husband? These past months, he never suspected she was anything other than she appeared. He wanted to question her further, but realized later would be a better time. If he pressed and she claimed her objection stemmed from the wedding night, what would he do?