Married At Midnight (22 page)

Victoria's numbness receded. Aware of Miles Gray-son's burning gaze on her profile, a flurry of panic took hold, swift and merciless. She sought to withdraw her hand but he wouldn't allow it. His grip tightened. An unpleasantly strong arm slid about her waist and caught her up against him.

His head swooped down.

His mouth crushed hers, fierce and devouring; it was a kiss far beyond Victoria's limited experience. Oh, she'd allowed a few

of her gentleman callers a chaste peck on the lips now and again—and thought herself quite daring!

But this was different. Her husband's possession of her mouth was far from worshipful. She could feel the rampant, seething

fire of his emotions in the hot brand of his mouth on hers, filled with stark, relentless purpose. He meant to defile her—to dishonor her.

Gasping, she tore her mouth free. She knew it for certain then. He raised her head, and both triumph and challenge glittered

in his eyes. Victoria's spine went rigid. She would have slapped him were it not for the sharp rap of Papa's voice.

"A word of warning, my lord. Although Victoria is now your wife, do not forget she is my daughter.

Misuse her and you'll

feel my wrath—and I promise, you'll wish you had not!"

The earl was undaunted. Instead his mouth curled in what could only be called dry mockery. "My lord, I could hardly forget," he drawled. "I trust you'll forgive our hasty departure." He turned to his bride.

"Countess, I suggest you hurry and have a maid pack a bag for you. Our wedding night awaits."

Victoria's eyes flew wide, then slid back to her father. This couldn't be happening! she thought wildly.

Miles Grayson had no right to take over her life like this!
Ah, but he does,
whispered a niggling little voice.

And they all knew it.

Her bag was packed and ready all too soon. The earl's carriage clattered around to the front of the house. With a steely-fingered hold about her elbow, the earl proceeded to lead her outside. But as he would have handed her up and into

the carriage, she broke away.

She rushed back to where Papa stood on the steps. Throwing her arms around him, she clung to him unashamedly. "Papa,"

she choked out. "I cannot do this. I cannot bear it!"

The hand that smoothed her hair was not entirely steady. "Shhh," he whispered. "It will be all right, Victoria. I know it."

"He is so hard. So cold!"

"I know what he seems at this moment, child. But he is not. Dear God, do you think I'd give my only daughter to such a man?"

An ache rent her breast. In her heart, Victoria knew her father wanted only what was best for her. Yet she couldn't see what good could possibly come of this marriage.

"Victoria!" From the shadows behind her, the sound of her name sliced through the night.

Victoria paid no heed.

Papa kissed her cheek, then squeezed her shoulder. "Go now, Victoria, and remember. You now have a husband, but I will always be your father— and I will always love you."

Though her throat was hot with the burning threat of tears, somehow those words gave her the strength she needed to turn and retrace her steps. This time when the earl handed her into the coach, her head was high, the set of her shoulders proudly erect.

The interior of the coach was thick with an oppressive silence. Victoria felt the earl's gaze on her— dark and angry—like the man himself, she thought with a shiver. Despite her resolve, she was sorely tempted to fling open the door and flee.

Soon the carriage rolled to a halt before a fashionable red-brick mansion in Grosvenor Square.

"Our humble abode, countess."

Victoria gritted her teeth. The wretch was baiting her—and enjoying it immensely. She disdained his hand and alighted without his assistance. The door was opened by a stoop-shouldered butler and they were ushered inside a wide, flagstoned entrance hall.

Miles wasted no time imparting the news. "Nelson, meet my wife, the former Lady Victoria Carlton.

Would you please show her to the gold bedchamber?"

Nelson was all agog but recovered quickly. "Certainly, sir." He picked up her bag and inclined his head toward his new mistress. "Please come with me, my lady."

Victoria brushed past the earl without a word. The bedchamber she was shown into was lovely. The carpet was of pale cream. Deep yellow brocade draperies framed the windows. A matching counterpane covered the bed. Under other circumstances

Victoria might have exclaimed her delight aloud, but not now.

What was it the earl had said? Her mind flew like wind across the fields.
Our wedding night awaits.

She shivered. He hadn't meant anything by that, had he? No. Of course not. After all, their marriage had hardly been planned. Surely he would not expect her to—to behave like a bride. Or—God forbid—to share his bed .. .

"I trust this room suits you?" The voice startled her. Victoria whirled around to see her husband standing in the doorway. He leaned with careless ease against the doorjamb, one lean hand curled around a glass of wine. Despite the lateness of the hour, he looked as elegantly handsome as he had hours earlier.

The room does,
she longed to shout.
It's you who does not.

She nodded.

"Good." There was a small pause. "Will you join me for a drink in the drawing room?"

She politely declined. "I think not. It's been a tiring night."

"A tiring night! But you saw the fruition of your plans, didn't you? I should imagine you'd want to celebrate." His tone was falsely hearty.

Victoria stiffened. "Celebrate? I fail to see what there is to celebrate," she informed him archly.

"Oh, come now, countess. This was your plan all along, wasn't it? To trap me into marriage."

Her jaw closed with a snap. It was all she could do to maintain a civil air. "It's just as I told my father, my lord. I wished to marry no one—least of all you," she said cuttingly. "Indeed, it was the very thing I sought to avoid."

"Ah, and you went about it quite admirably, didn't you?" Mockery lay heavy and biting in his voice.

Victoria's face burned painfully.
"A
mistake, my lord. A costly one for both of us, I admit, for I misjudged my father grievously. But perhaps you may draw comfort from the fact that you stand to gain far more than I. My father is a wealthy man. My dowry is a fortune unto its own. I should imagine
you
would be celebrating." Her gaze lowered to the glass of wine in his hand. She smiled with acid sweetness.

"But you are already, I see."

Her barb struck home. His mouth hardened. His grip on the fragile stem of the glass tightened so that the skin of his knuckles shown taut and white; Victoria was certain the stem would snap at any moment.

He straightened. "This seems as good a time as any to tell you of my plan. I suggest we dwell under the same roof for as long

as it takes to appease your father. In time, I have no doubt you'll be able to charm him into seeing this marriage was a mistake. When that happens, the marriage can be annulled and we'll go our separate ways. Is that agreeable?"

"Quite," she snapped.

"So be it," he said. He started to turn away, only to pause.

"A
word of advice for you, countess. I shouldn't force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him

—the way you did

me in the Rutherford's garden. A man"—his smile was but a travesty—"I fear there is no polite way to put this ... a man finds such boldness distasteful." With that he left her.

Victoria was speechless with rage. She glared at the door through which he'd just passed. Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst, was the most odious, hateful man alive!

* * *

This was war. Her pride had been stung, the gauntlet cast. Her husband had insulted her, cutting her down with naught but the lash of his tongue.

Oh, she would do as he said. They would reside beneath the same roof, for the sake of her father. But they would share nothing else—not a single meal. Not a room.

But if he thought to make her cower, he would be sorely disappointed, for Victoria was determined not to wilt away, to hide

in the corner.

So it was that the next morning, she summoned the earl's staff and introduced herself. .. and promptly rang for the carriage. While she waited in the entrance hall, she stopped before a gilt-framed mirror and retied the satin strings of her bonnet, humming a merry little tune.

"Going out so soon, my dear?"

Victoria very nearly choked herself.

Thank heaven her recovery was mercifully quick, even though her heart pounded and her mind turned wildly. He thought her bold and audacious, so that was what she would give him. Giving a final tug on her bonnet strings, she turned and bestowed

on him a smile that would surely melt the hardest of hearts.

But not her husband's.

"Well, Victoria?" He stood before her, an imposing figure garbed wholly in black. Her stomach fluttered strangely. He seemed taller than ever, lean and muscular. Seen in the full light of the day, she could detect no flaws in his countenance, save the almost wicked slant of his brows. Indeed, he was so very handsome he nearly took her breath away. But there was no mistaking the disapproval inherent in his regard, and that fired more than a twinge of resentment.

She gave a trilling little laugh. "What!" she said breezily. "Did you think I'd be given to vapors? If so, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

His eyes seemed to sizzle. "On the contrary, Victoria"—he spoke with precise deliberation—"you are exactly what I expected."

She paid him no further heed as she swept out the front door. Minutes later the carriage drew up before Sophie's house.

When the butler announced her, Sophie thrust aside her embroidery and leaped up.

"Victoria! Oh, I'm so sorry . . . I-I don't know how it happened . . . your father followed me onto the terrace and asked your whereabouts. And suddenly there you were . . . ! Oh, I've been so worried.

Mama rushed home from shopping this morning with the news you'd wed the earl of Stonehurst! Is that who you were with in the garden? The earl of Stonehurst? I told Mama she must surely be mistaken . ..

she is, isn't she?"

There was no need to answer. Victoria practically fell into Sophie's arms and collapsed into tears.

Within the day, their marriage was the talk of the
ton.

Within the week, the talk of London.

Victoria had feared she would be ostracized, for the
ton
was notorious for turning a condescending eye to those who committed the slightest
faux pas.
Yet the ladies sighed with envy, for they thought marriage between Victoria and Miles Grayson grandly romantic—and quite a catch! As for the gentlemen, they merely smiled quietly to themselves, for they were well aware the earl of Stonehurst had captured a covetous prize—a wife who possessed both beauty
and
money.

All in all, her social calender changed little, for invitations continued to arrive daily. But Victoria felt very

much the intruder

in her husband's house; oh, not because of the servants, for they were only too anxious to please. No, it was Miles. She couldn't forget he disdained her very presence in his home, her so-called role as wife.

And so she stayed away as often as

she could. On those rare occasions she encountered her husband, he was unfailingly polite, yet chillingly so.

One morning, she accompanied Sophie to a seamstress on Bond Street. While Sophie and the seamstress went back to the dressing room, Victoria idly sifted through a handful of hair ribbons in the far corner of the shop. The doorchime sounded,

and she glanced up. Two matrons stepped within; one was Lady Carmichael, the other Lady Brentwood.

Her greeting died on her lips.

"Why, I've never met such a gentleman as Lord Stonehurst in all my days," Lady Carmichael was saying.

Curious, Victoria ducked her head low and listened intently.

"I find him utterly fascinating," Lady Carmichael went on, "and
most
charming."

"Yes, indeed." This came from Lady Brentwood. "Charles has had numerous business dealings with him.

Why, only last

evening I distinctly recall he told an acquaintance there's no man he respects or admires more than Lord Stonehurst—and Charles is not a man to give his praise lightly."

But Lady Brentwood had not finished. "As for his marriage to Lady Victoria Carlton, why, many a man would have left her

to her own devices, no matter the harm to her reputation. The haste with which they married simply proves that he is a noble fellow indeed." She gave a trilling laugh. "To say nothing of handsome!"

Victoria's lips tightened. Handsome, oh, exceedingly. That she couldn't deny. But charming? Noble?

They
did not have to live with the subject in question. Little did they know—why, the man was a veritable fencepost!

"I do hope Victoria appreciates how lucky she is to have landed such a catch!" said Lady Carmichael. "I find it rather odd

that she continues to go about as if she'd never married! Why, my Theodora sobbed the night through when she heard Stonehurst had wed."

Victoria's head snapped up. She was sorely tempted to tell Lady Carmichael that her Theodora was welcome to Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst!

But she was unwilling to fuel gossip any further, and so she maintained her silence, keeping her presence hidden until the two ladies had left the shop.

But the conversation nagged at her throughout the next few days. Was Miles truly so respected among the
ton?

For the first time she began to see her husband in a different light.. . and reluctantly admitted that to her knowledge, Miles was neither a cad nor a bounder. He didn't overly frequent the gaming tables. She heard no tales of wild or reckless behavior, nor did he drink to excess. If he had a mistress, he was so discreet she never even suspected. Indeed, it seemed her husband possessed none of the vices she might have despised in a husband . . .

Soon she began to feel guilty, for neither malice nor spite was in her nature. What need was there to live together as enemies? One morning as she prepared to go downstairs, she decided perhaps it was time to make the best of their situation. On impulse, she tapped on the door of his room. When he bid her enter, she stepped inside .. .

Only to stop short at the threshold.

Apparently he'd just come in from riding. His riding jacket lay in a heap upon the bed; a rumpled white shirt lay next to it.

All at once her mouth was dry as dust, her gaze riveted to his form. Victoria had never seen a man in a state of dishabille,

not her father or any other.

His hips were incredibly narrow, his boots spattered with mud. His fawn-colored breeches were like a second skin; they

clung to his thighs, cleanly outlining every muscle. But it was what lay nestled between those iron-hewn thighs that drew her gaze in a manner most unseemly ... the swelling there hinted at a masculinity that—

were it unfettered and released from constraint—promised a sight to behold indeed...

Egad, whatever was wrong with her! Stunned by such audacious thoughts, she tore her gaze upward, only to realize that his naked torso was no less disconcerting.

His shoulders were strong and wide, the muscles of his arms smooth and tight and sleek. A mat of dark curly hair covered his chest and belly, disappearing beneath the waistband of his breeches. Her mind ran wild. Oh, but there was beauty in the male form, of a kind she'd not thought to find... most certainly not in her husband!

"Was there something you wanted, Victoria?"

His regard was cool and unsmiling. Victoria swallowed, praying he hadn't noticed her staring. Quickly she gathered her courage—and her senses. Yet still her voice was a trifle breathless.

"There is a garden fete at the Covingtons this afternoon. I-I wondered if you would care to attend with me?"

His reply was most emphatic. "I am not one of your London peacocks to strut at your side for all to admire you, countess.

If you wish to attend, then go. Do not trouble me about such trivial matters again."

Victoria felt as if she'd been slapped. Stupid, foolish tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, and somehow managed

to salvage her pride. Raising her chin, she matched his disdain with dignified aplomb.

"As you wish, my lord," she stated levelly. With a swish of her skirts she turned and was gone.

By the time she reached the dining room, a seething resentment had replaced the hurt. So much for her peace efforts, she reflected bitterly. She had tried, and she could do no more.

The next step—unlikely though it was—was up to Miles.

So it was that in the days that followed, Victoria went riding in Hyde Park. She attended birthday parties and routs. She waltzed until the wee hours of the morning at Almack's. The Lady Carmichaels and Lady Brentwoods of the
ton
could

gossip all they pleased about the state of her marriage. When queried about the whereabouts of her husband, she would

simply shrug and say lightly, "It's hardly the thing to be in each other's pockets. Besides, what marriage these days is a

love match?"

Never had she been so miserable.