Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (14 page)

Chapter Nineteen

A
nother half sister.

Brushing her hair in long vigorous strokes, Cleo marveled at her father’s ability to produce offspring—and solely female offspring at that. Jack had certainly sown his oats across the country.

She set her brush down and stared at herself. “Four?” she asked her reflection, unperturbed that she was talking to herself.

That brought the total count to four. Jack had fathered four daughters, to date, with women he had not bothered to wed. Initially, this only angered her and fed her belief that men were takers, slaking their lusts with no thought to those it affected.

But then her anger dissipated with the knowledge that she had another sister. Her heart softened as she thought about Annalise. Just a few years younger than herself, she didn’t have any other family. No siblings. Her mother was gone. She’d thought herself alone and worked long hours as a seamstress apprentice when Jack’s man had located her. Now Annalise had Jack and Cleo. And although they were occupied with their new lives, she had Grier and Marguerite, too.

The callow girl was going to need all the help she could get navigating the
ton
. She looked so innocent with those brown eyes so full of hope and faith in all the promises Jack made. Wealth. The sparkling world of the
ton
. A gentleman husband. A titled man—the sort that would never have glanced at her before—was now hers to have.

Cleo shook her head, hoping Annalise wasn’t expecting all of that. Disillusionment only awaited her. The
ton
might let her in the door because of Jack’s money, but they’d never see her truly as one of them. In their eyes, she’d always be a bastard, one step from the gutters.

She wouldn’t be embraced. The wolves would circle, ready to use her, ready to tear her apart and take all that innocence she possessed and squash it underfoot.

Cleo contemplated this as she gazed at her reflection, wondering if she shouldn’t warn her . . . shouldn’t ask Jack to let her off the hook. Set her up in a nice cottage in some village where she might make genuine friends . . . perhaps one day meet a nice man who cared for her.

But something told her that Annalise wouldn’t agree to that. From their brief exchange, she could see that the girl bought into the fairy tale. She wanted everything Jack promised. She wanted her prince and her happily ever after. Jack had convinced her it could be hers.

Sighing, Cleo rose from her vanity table, hoping that her new sister didn’t end up hurt too badly.

Hopefully, Marguerite would help her find her way since she wouldn’t be here to do so.

Cleo didn’t imagine Logan wanted to remain long in London. He had family and duties awaiting him in Scotland. And honestly, she didn’t want to remain here either. There’d be a scandal, and she’d rather not be here to serve as fodder for it—even if it meant living with him on some faraway mountaintop.

Not that the prospect didn’t alarm her. She was placing herself totally in his hands, away from all that was familiar—Jack, Marguerite. Even Town had become something known.

She would be isolated from everything she knew. It was bad enough when she left her mother and siblings . . . but now she’d have no one. No one but Logan. At least until her siblings joined her. Then they’d have each other. That would have to be enough. She’d make it so.

W
hen Logan arrived the following day, he was immediately led to the garden, where Jack Hadley sat at a small table taking his breakfast beneath a large maple tree.

He’d rather expected Cleo to be absent, but until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he longed for the sight of her. He’d only been away from her for a day, but he’d thought of little else.

Jack motioned to the vacant seat across from him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you.” He lowered himself across from the man who went by the moniker “King of the London Underworld.” Logan had no misconception that much of his wealth had been earned through criminal and unsavory practices. It occurred to him that a little fear might be in order when dealing with the man. Only he wasn’t afraid. In his mind, fear had to do with regret. And he regretted nothing he’d done with Cleo. He’d change nothing that had happened.

Jack took a healthy bite of kipper and leveled his keen-eyed gaze on Logan, assessing for some moments before announcing, “So. You’ve compromised my daughter.”

Logan didn’t so much as blink an eye. This interview was important if he was to gain Hadley’s blessing. He did not intend to show weakness.

With his gaze trained on Hadley, he answered, “It appears so.”

Hadley chewed some more.

Logan continued. “I seek her hand.”

“She mentioned that. And why is it I should sanction such a union?”

For a moment, he considered reminding the man that her reputation was unsalvageable, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t why she should marry him. That wasn’t why he wanted to marry her.

Settling for the truth, he declared, “I want her. I wanted her before I ruined her at Hamilton’s. And the reason she’s ruined is because I can’t seem to stay away from her.”

“And not because of her fat dowry.”

He winced. “Initially, it drew me. I have responsibilities . . . a crumbling estate, siblings to provide for.” He leaned forward. “But I see your daughter. I—” he paused. “I like her. I appreciate her. More than any fop about Town ever will.”

Hadley held his stare for a long moment before slowly nodding. “You have my blessing.” He waved his fork in a small circle. “She’s in the salon with her sister. I’m sure she’ll want to see you so that you may begin making plans. I recommend a hasty wedding . . . it should help stop the worst of the gossip. Perhaps we should journey north to your home and perform the ceremony there? Once we cross the border, there will be no need for a license or posting of banns. And you’re a Scotsman, after all. No one shall think it too unseemly.”

He wouldn’t argue leaving London and returning home with Cleo sooner rather than later. “Very well,” he agreed, standing and feeling an inordinate amount of relief. He didn’t realize until that moment how anxious he’d been for Hadley’s blessing. Now nothing stood in his way from making Cleo his own. Well, nothing except the female herself.

Logan wasn’t so dense as to not realize that he still had his work ahead of him. It was going to take time to put Cleo’s long-held fears to rest. It wouldn’t happen overnight.

But once they married, they would have all the time in the world. Eventually, she’d trust him—and herself.

Then she’d be his.

C
leo was browsing through fashion plates with Annalise when Logan found them in the salon. She stood anxiously at the sight of him, struck anew with the astonishment that she had agreed to marry this man.

He stood tall and handsome, his body strong and lean. He was beyond beautiful. Beyond anything she had let herself dream for herself. Somehow she thought she could control this situation . . . control him. She admitted this to herself with not a small dose of shame.

Annalise cleared her throat softly, and Cleo remembered her presence. She moved back and guided Annalise forward by the elbow. “Lord McKinney, allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Annalise Hadley.”

Annalise blinked those large brown eyes, clearly unaccustomed to the surname in reference to herself. She’d get used to it.

“Miss Hadley.” He bowed slightly, ever courteous even with surprise reflected in his gray eyes. He’d met Marguerite, and he knew about Grier, but, of course, he’d never heard of a third sister.

Annalise performed a clumsy curtsy, her plump frame wobbling. “Please call me Annalise.” She looked quickly at Cleo, verifying if this was acceptable.

The inquiry in her sister’s gaze brought back the question of how Logan’s conversation had fared with Jack. Whether Annalise and he adopted the use of each other’s Christian names largely depended on whether he was about to become her brother-in-law.

Logan leveled his gaze on her. “Jack recommended that we wed in Scotland.”

A breath of relief escaped her, followed fast with panic.
I’m really going to marry this man
.

He continued, “I suggest we leave tomorrow.”

She stared. It was really happening. So soon. And not a grand church wedding, it would seem. But then she didn’t really want that. A bunch of people who didn’t really like her crammed inside a church, hungry to watch the spectacle of her marriage, hoping for a bit of gossip to carry with them to the next soiree.

Her mother wouldn’t have likely attended. Even if her ham-fisted, controlling stepfather allowed her to, she wouldn’t have felt comfortable in such elevated company. So why not travel to Scotland and marry in his domain?

“Very well.” She glanced at her sister. “Shall we begin packing?”

Annalise nodded, her brown eyes dancing with excitement at the prospect.

An uncomfortable silence stretched. Logan looked as though he wanted to say something more, but a fleeting look at Annalise prevented that.

Annalise must have read the look. She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.” She likely thought they wanted the moment alone to kiss and hold each other and whisper sweet words. Cleo grimaced at such a wildly romantic notion . . . but a notion she suspected her half sister harbored.

She slipped from the room and left them alone. They stood with the tea cart between them.

What did one say to the man you were to marry with an understanding in place that there likely would never be intimacy between them? Cleo motioned to the pot. “Would you like some tea?”

“No.” He circled the cart, an intent light in his gray eyes.

“Could I ring for something stronger? Coffee?” She resisted the impulse to back up. She had vowed to trust him and that meant not retreating at his approach.

He stopped in front of her and cupped her cheek, his rasping palm holding her face.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, the reminder burning on her tongue that their marriage wasn’t about intimacy. No touching. No spontaneous caressing.

“Sealing our bargain,” he whispered the moment before his lips claimed hers.

She tried to protest but he smothered the sound. It wasn’t the type of kiss she thought one might give for sealing a bargain. It was hot and consuming, rough and thorough. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, sweeping inside and lighting her afire.

She grabbed his shoulders, prepared to push him away but instead she ended up clinging to him.

He finally ended the kiss, and this only galled her. He ended it. Where was her willpower? She was supposed to be in control, but so far he seemed to be the one in control.

Staring up at him, she realized what a fool she’d been to think she could ever control this man.

He gazed down at her with desire gleaming in his eyes. Her heart stuttered wildly inside her chest. He brushed a thumb over her kiss-bruised lips.

“You can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“What?”

She moistened her lips and his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. Her belly tightened and she forced hard resolve into her voice. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you feel like it.”

He smiled slowly and her stomach flipped at the curve of those well-formed lips. “The occasion called for it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No more. I can’t do this if you continue to kiss me and touch me every time I turn around.” As she uttered these words the desire ebbed from his eyes, replaced with cold aloofness. He didn’t miss her meaning. He understood.

“That’s the way it’s to be then? I can’t so much as touch you without your express welcome? Will you send me an embossed invitation? Is that how I shall know?” he bit out.

He was angry, but she preferred that to his heated gazes and roaming lips and hands. “I-I-I explained—”

“Yes, I suppose you did. I just did not fully understand until this moment that I was never to so much as put a finger on my wife. Forgive me. Now I comprehend.”

My wife
. Just those words from his lips sent a bolt of panic through her.

“We’re not married,” she retorted.

“Indeed. Not yet.”

“I don’t understand your . . .” she groped for the right word and gave up, reminding him instead what it was he really sought. “You need an heiress. I’m that. You claimed no need for an heir.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. I only need the funds that you bring.” He looked her up and down, his expression so cold it chilled her heart. “I don’t need you.”

She flinched even as awareness swam through her that she had incited this.

Turning from her, he stalked across the room.

She watched, a new type of panic rising in her . . . panic that he’d change his mind and didn’t want to marry her at all. Blast it! When had she become such a contrary creature?

“Wait!” she cried. “I still need to speak to you about a matter.”

At the door, he turned to look at her. “What might that be?”

“I need your promise.”

“Another one?”

She nodded, her misery more than she could understand. She was getting her wish. She’d be saving her family and he wouldn’t demand a place in her bed. What more did she require?

“I need your promise that I can use funds to help my family . . . a-and that my siblings can reside with us if need be.”

Something flickered in his gaze, a hint of the softness he’d shown her in the library when he comforted her about Bess. Then it was gone. “Of course.”

She released a sigh. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Be ready to leave in the morning.”

Inexplicable relief rippled through her, easing the tension from her shoulders. He hadn’t changed his mind. She’d reached her goal and accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do.

So why did she feel so empty inside?

Chapter Twenty

A
t the first sight of McKinney Castle, Cleo felt a mixture of awe and fear. Appropriate, when she considered it. Those were much the same emotions she felt around Logan.

As they trodded along the well-worn road, she peered out the carriage window at what was to become her home—and, hopefully, home to several of her siblings, too. She bit her lip. She still needed to broach the specifics of collecting them with her husband-to-be. Not that they had done much discussing on the journey north. Most of her time had been spent in the company of Jack, Annalise, Marguerite, and her husband, Ash Courtland.

They’d all accompanied her, insisting on attending her wedding.
Wedding.
The word made her stomach twist. She wondered how soon the ceremony would occur now that they had arrived. Apparently the local village had its own church with a Reverend Smythe presiding. And there were Logan’s siblings. With the exception of his sister, Fiona, they were all here, and Logan had expressed his wish for them to witness the occasion.

Her stomach plummeted as they rolled along the uneven road, passing a rock structure that she could only surmise was the church from its modest wooden spire struggling to rise up from the rock edifice.

She lifted her gaze, catching sight again of the great, sprawling castle. It was something straight from the Middle Ages. Tarps blew in the wind, covering sections of the left wing, evidently where the rock wall had relented to time and now required renovation.

The nape of her neck prickled and she swung her head around. Her gaze landed on Logan riding alongside the carriage. His shadowed eyes watched her, the dark gray assessing . . . no doubt trying to decipher her reaction to his home—now her home, too.

Jack stuck his head out alongside hers. “That’s it?”

Her face burned at his loud question. She quickly ducked back inside to avoid Logan’s watchful gaze.

Jack followed, dropping back against the plush velvet squabs. “Well, I have a fairly good idea what he plans to do with your dowry.”

Marguerite smiled encouragingly. “Money well spent, yes? To improve your home, Cleo.”

Cleo nodded and returned the smile, knowing it was expected. She was glad for Marguerite’s presence. Actually, she was glad for everyone’s presence. Even Jack. It felt less daunting—almost like she wasn’t doing this all on her own.

The carriage finally rolled into a courtyard, wheels and hooves clacking noisily over the ancient cobblestones. In moments, the carriage door was pulled open. Marguerite nodded at her, indicating she should be the first to descend—the first to greet her new home and all its inhabitants. Contrary to the unease and doubts rolling through her, she vowed to wear a happy countenance.

Logan stood there, hand held out, ready to assist her. She met his eyes as she accepted his hand. Ash stepped in behind him, quick to hand down Marguerite and Annalise, leaving Cleo in the hands of her husband-to-be.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his gray gaze searching her face.

Home.
The word coursed through her, warming her heart. In her mind, she envisioned her little sisters and brothers scampering all over the place, exploring every nook and cranny. “Thank you.”

The serene moment was short-lived. A loud screech pierced the air, followed by what sounded like a dozen horses.

Cleo turned toward the sound, gasping as a girl no older than twelve charged from the castle doors, past the half dozen servants—none of whom blinked an eye over her wild display. On her heels were four others: two boys and one other girl, walking at a much more dignified pace.

The girl launched herself into Logan’s arms, her carroty-red hair flying around her in a flaming nimbus. He caught her, not staggering in the slightest even though she was a hearty creature.

“Took you long enough! I was about to expire from boredom.”

“Ah, sweet Josephine.” He peeled her off him and patted her head. She grinned up at him with a face covered in freckles. “You’re too busy about your adventures to ever be bored.”

Her gaze found Cleo, and Cleo immediately saw that Logan and Josephine shared the same gray eyes. “Who’s this?”

Logan responded with a voice full of teasing merriment, quite different from the way he usually spoke, and she realized she was seeing a new side to him. “Oh, just a pretty lass I found on the roadside.”

Josephine sent him a chiding look. “You jest!”

“Of course he jests,” one of the boys behind her broke in. His chest swelled in what Cleo guessed was an attempt to look manly and worldly all at once.

“Who do you think she is, pet?” Logan asked.

“A wife? You found us a wife then?” She clapped merrily.

He chuckled, his hand coming to rest on Cleo’s back. She tried not to shiver at the warm press of it there. “Well, I found myself a wife. She’ll be your sister-in-law.” Logan stepped back to include everyone. “And this is her family. They’ve accompanied us home for the wedding.”

Logan quickly made the introductions, and Cleo learned the names of his four siblings: Josephine, Abigail, the elder girl, and the boys: Simon and Niall.

“A wedding!” Josephine clapped again. “Here? Oh, splendid! We have so much to do in preparation. We must decorate, plan the menu, fetch flowers—”

Logan interrupted, “We shall do all we can in the time permitting, Josie.”

The girl frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We’re not taking weeks to plan the affair.”

“Well, we can accomplish much in a week—”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Abigail spoke from behind in sobering tones. “This is not your wedding, Josie. Let Logan handle matters.”

Josie crossed her arms in a huff. “I only want it to be a grand celebration. Fiona didn’t marry here. We’ve never had a wedding ceremony here before.”

“In your thirteen years.” Niall pointed out with a smirk.

Josie scowled again, her freckled nose bunching. “You’re a mere year older. Don’t act as though you’re so ancient, Niall.”

“We’ve journeyed far to get here, and I should simply like the matter done.” Logan’s gaze cut to Cleo. She read the question clearly there. He was trying to see if she concurred. “We can see it done this night. If agreeable, with you.”

This night? So soon? She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.

Was he afraid she’d change her mind? She had not come all this way to turn tail and run now. No matter how tempting the notion, she wasn’t a coward. She wasn’t backing down.

“Tonight suits me.” She glanced at her family, as if they might object.

Marguerite, bravest of the bunch, recovered her voice. “If that’s what you wish, Cleo.”

Cleo nodded.

Marguerite faced Logan, her manner turning brisk and efficient. “If someone would show us to Cleo’s room, we can begin preparing.”

“Of course. Mrs. Willis will see you settled and take care of any needs you have.” He nodded to the apple-cheeked housekeeper. “She’s a marvel. This place wouldn’t function without her.”

Mrs. Willis snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Now that you’ve married a proper lady, all will be well here, mark my words.” She executed a short curtsy for Cleo. “Glad to have you here, m’am. We’ve needed a lady’s touch for years now.” The woman’s small blue eyes flew over Logan and his siblings with feverish accusation and Cleo gathered the tribe of them had been something of a handful. With her background, she well understood the disorder of a large family. She almost winced at the thought of introducing some of her siblings into the existing fray.

“Thank you,” Cleo murmured.

Mrs. Willis bobbed her head happily. “We’ve kept you dawdling out here long enough. Right this way.” She muttered quick instructions to the other lingering maids, indicating they should escort the other guests to their chambers.

Once inside, Cleo could see the house wasn’t as outdated as she’d suspected. Gas lights lined the long corridors, so she knew some renovations had been made to at least part of the castle.

In moments, she was inside a vast bedchamber with a daunting four-post bed. A large rock fireplace, huge enough for Cleo to step inside, took up almost one wall.

Marguerite and Annalise remained with her. Annalise rotated in a small circle, limping as she moved. With her hands tucked inside her fur-lined muff, she assessed the room with an open mouth. “I’ve never seen a chamber such as this one. It’s fit for a king.”

“Oh, it’s slept its fair share of kings,” Mrs. Willis admitted. “Generations ago, at least.”

“It’s a fine room,” Cleo murmured, knowing words were expected of her. She struggled with the notion that a chamber so large was to be all hers. Space was not something she’d been granted growing up. Even Jack’s Mayfair mansion couldn’t boast a room of this size.

“We’ve been preparing the master chamber for your arrival ever since Master Logan left for Town.”

The housekeeper’s words settled like stones in the pit of her stomach. She leveled her gaze on the housekeeper, struggling to appear unaffected. “You were so certain he would return with a bride?”

Mrs. Willis smiled. “Well, of course. It was his duty. And for all his wild ways and devilish good looks, the master’s always been a good lad and known his duty.”

Cleo nodded.
Duty
. Of course. That’s all this was to him. All she was. That’s why he didn’t care about the stipulations she placed on their marriage. A useful reminder.

Mrs. Willis exhaled, her look extremely satisfied as she surveyed the room. “Good to see a new Lord and Lady McKinney in this chamber again. It’s been too long. The master’s parents would be so proud.” She nodded to the colossal bed. “Can’t even count how many babes have been born right there in that bed. Does my heart good to know that I’ll be here to witness the arrival of the next generation.”

Cleo felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the bed under discussion. She would share this room—that bed—with Logan?

Marguerite must have read the horror writ upon her face. She squeezed Cleo’s hand. “That will be all for now, Mrs. Willis. Please send Miss Hadley’s trunks up and we’ll help ready her.”

Mrs. Willis nodded and departed with a quick curtsy of her portly frame. As soon as the door clicked shut, Cleo sank down onto the nearest chair. Her sisters watched her with concern and she forced a wobbly smile, struggling to reclaim her composure. She’d rather not collapse into a fit of vapors in front of them. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

“Well,” Marguerite said, her voice loud and jarring in the cavernous room. She clapped her hands together with an air of efficiency. “What gown shall you wear? Something blue? You look very fine in blue.”

Cleo nodded and tried to summon her voice. She should at least appear to care. It was her wedding day, after all.

Marguerite and Annalise were soon sifting through Cleo’s trunks.

“This is so exciting,” Annalise commented. “You’re marrying a fine lord.” She cast an almost shy glance at Cleo. “He’s very handsome, too.” Her gaze swept over the room. “And you’ll live in a castle.”

“A dilapidated castle,” Cleo reminded, hating for Annalise to become swept up in the seeming romantic nature of it all.

“Oh, but you’ll repair it now.”

Marguerite held up a lovely peacock blue gown. “I think this is the one.”

Cleo hardly cast it a glance. “Yes. It will do.” Her gaze drifted again to the bed. Her face reddened when she caught Marguerite following her gaze. Her half sister cleared her throat. “Annalise, why don’t you find your room and freshen up a bit yourself? I’m sure you’ll want to change before the ceremony.”

Annalise looked from Marguerite to Cleo. For the first time, Cleo noted the keen intelligence in those lovely brown eyes. For all of her naiveté, the girl wasn’t a dullard. She nodded and rose. “Of course. Send for me if you need anything.”

As the door clicked behind her, Marguerite resumed digging through Cleo’s trunk, hunting for the gown’s matching slippers.

Cleo rose and approached the fireplace, staring into the writhing orange nest of flames. “I imagine it gets very cold here in the winter.”

“I imagine so. But you’ll have that fine fireplace . . . and that fine husband to keep you warm.”

It was as though Marguerite baited her, knowing precisely what to say to make her want to run and hide like a frightened child.

She snorted indelicately. “I think you know he’ll not be keeping me warm. This isn’t a love union, Marguerite. It won’t be like your marriage.”

Marguerite didn’t respond for some moments, and Cleo finally looked over her shoulder to find her sister staring at her thoughtfully.

Cleo continued, “I suppose you think that’s wretched of me? A wife unwilling to consummate . . .”

Marguerite inclined her head. “I suspected that might be why you were spending so much time with Thrumgoodie. You thought he would be safe.” She spread the gown out on the bed, smoothing a hand over the glimmering blue fabric. “You certainly went in the opposite direction in choosing McKinney. I imagine he will be a hard man to resist.”

Cleo closed her eyes in a long, pained blink. “You have no idea.”

Marguerite smiled a small grin. “I think I might have an idea. I wasn’t always eager to wed Ash. But he changed my mind.”

Cleo’s cheeks heated. “Of course.” Her husband was a handsome man with an illicit reputation about Town—at least before he had married Marguerite.

“Let me just say the rewards of the marital bed can be . . . immeasurable.” Marguerite’s expression took on a dreamy quality that made Cleo decidedly uncomfortable.

“Rewards?” she scoffed. “The rewards the man receives versus the woman seem decidedly unbalanced.”

“I’ve no complaint.” Marguerite smiled ever patiently and Cleo bit back her automatic,
not yet
.

“You know”—Marguerite sat down upon the bed, picking at the lace trim of her gown—“there are things to do that don’t involve actual consummation. Certain pleasurable acts. For both of you.”

Cleo sniffed, striving for disinterest. But it didn’t work. She strode forward and sank down beside Marguerite, looking her steadily in the eye. “Such as?”