Samantha James (6 page)

She stirred him. She stirred him in a way he hadn’t thought possible, in a way he’d never dreamed might happen. The truth was that he’d gone—for a brief spate of time—a little mad.

Deep in his soul, he knew it wasn’t Anne’s
fault. She was young. Inexperienced. He, on the other hand, had no excuse.

“I cannot countenance the disgrace of my sister,” Alec was stating. “I
will
not. This is not the way I would have had her find a husband. But I cannot allow her name to be sullied. I cannot allow the humiliation and embarrassment of my mother. Of my entire family. The situation must be remedied. Only you, sir, can do that.”

Simon eyed him, keeping all expression under rigid control.

“You are a gentleman,” Alec continued tightly. “I trust you will act as such?”

Simon remained very still, but his mind was churning. He was well aware what Alec was saying—indeed he’d expected it. But it hadn’t seemed real until now. To wed her…His mind tripped on the thought. It was unthinkable. Impossible.

And inevitable.

He sat with his hands on his knees. He had to stop himself from balling them into fists. Inside he was seething. He’d known this was coming. Yet now that the moment was here…There was a bad taste in his mouth.

Were the circumstances reversed, Simon would have demanded the very same. He understood Alec’s protectiveness. He supposed Alec had no recourse. Still, it stuck in his craw. He didn’t have to like it. No man liked having his hand forced.

He felt compelled to make his feelings clear. “I have no wish to marry.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “You should have thought of that before you laid hands on my sister.”

“Allow me to finish,” Simon said coldly.

“Certainly.” Alec’s tone was pleasant; his icy glare was not.

“However much I did not anticipate the possibility”—his mouth twisted in a black smile—“it appears I have no recourse but to enter into marriage with your sister.”

He was aware the duke neither liked nor appreciated either his tone or his choice of words.

The duke inclined his head. “I will, of course, see that you are given a generous dowry—”

“I want no dowry.” The words were bit out. Christ, he did not want
her
.

Alec’s tone was cool. “I assume you’ll be returning to your home in the north?”

Simon gave a terse nod.

“I have your assurance you will treat her well?”

Simon stiffened. His lips barely moved as he said, “You offend me by suggesting otherwise.”

Alec nodded. Some of the tension had drained from his features. “Of course. Forgive me. It is just that…this is most unexpected. I did not expect to have to contend with this situation.”

Nor had he, Simon thought bitterly.

“There is one other thing,” Alec said slowly. “I’ve only just realized why your name is so familiar.” He paused. “Please be assured I have no desire to make you uncomfortable,” he said very quietly.

Darkness burned in his soul. Simon felt his entire body grow taut. He knew what was coming. He
knew
what Alec was about to say. Damn, he thought.
Damn
.

“Belated though they are, please be assured you have my sympathies.”

“Thank you.” Simon nearly bit out the words.

There was an uneasy pause. “Does Anne know?”

“No.” The word was flat and uncompromising.

“She should,” Alec said quietly.

“And I will thank you, Your Grace, if you leave that particular undertaking to me.” For all that he was thin-lipped and grim, Simon was faultlessly polite.

“As you wish then.” Alec studied him a moment. Then, rising, he came around the corner of his desk and extended his hand.

Simon could not have called himself a gentleman if he’d refused the gesture. It was not intentional, but he was the first to withdraw his grip.

“Well,” said Alec. “Anne is waiting. May I send her in?”

“Certainly,” Simon said curtly.

Alec exited the study.

Left alone, Simon closed his eyes briefly.

Unexpected, Alec had called it. God, he thought with a silent, black shout of laughter, but wasn’t it the truth? He had not anticipated that his stay in London would be a lengthy one. At this hour yesterday, he’d thought to be well away from the city. Only now it appeared he wouldn’t be leaving London today at all!

And when he did, it would be with the one thing he’d never expected in a thousand years…

A wife.

In all honesty, Anne reflected quite some time later, it was probably a blessing that it all happened so fast.

Simon was standing near the window when she entered, his booted feet planted slightly apart. He remained in utter stillness for a moment, and Anne had the strangest sensation he sought to resurrect some tremendous emotion from deep inside. He pivoted, his shoulders hitched ever so slightly, along with the tilt of his head.

So did Anne’s.

She couldn’t help but notice the taut fit of his
jacket. He was a powerful man. A proud man.

He indicated the small settee. “Perhaps you wish to sit.”

Anne did not want to sit. She wanted to run, as far and as fast as she was able.

But she was made of sterner stuff, or so she contrived to assure herself. Cowardice was not her way. Silence was not her way. It was true there were times she had cause to regret something she’d said or done. Her feelings were something that she had never been able to constrain.

There had been no need.

Yet now there was a hollow silence. The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity. Anne discovered herself wholly beyond words.

“It appears we shall have to marry.”

It was so far removed from what Anne had always expected that it didn’t seem real. For this was not a proposal, she decided vaguely. This was but a moment of acceptance—of resignation—on his part.

And perhaps a moment of resignation on hers as well.

He didn’t want to marry her. It was there in the coolness of his eyes, in the rigidness of his posture, in the clipped way he uttered the words.

They did not kiss. They did not touch. There was certainly no declaration of love…or anything else.

Anne couldn’t help it. Seared in her mind was the feel of his mouth locked against hers. She couldn’t help but recall—and vividly so!—what had brought them to this course. She remembered the way he’d touched her. The heat of his mouth, the breadth of his chest, the ache in her own, the way she felt as if she were grasping for something that hovered just beyond reach. The way she’d longed to touch him in return, to linger and explore.

Did he think of it too?

She sucked in a breath. No.
No
. She could almost believe it had never been. That their blazing embrace last night was but a figment of her imagination.

But nothing was as it should be. Her life was suddenly wheeling out of control, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

What
ever
had possessed her to allow him to kiss her? she wondered wildly.

Somehow, she never thought to wonder what had possessed
him.

Anne had never thought herself fanciful. Not a dreamer.

Though to be perfectly honest, she’d never met the man who inspired such dreams. At least not yet. But she’d always been certain she would find him. Or that he would find her. She’d always thought it would happen, of course, for she did not think she was destined to spend her days a spinster.

It appeared she would not.

But not so soon. Not
now
.

And not with this man who seemed so distant and cold!

She didn’t want to look at him. She couldn’t help it either. He did not retreat from her scrutiny. She almost wished that he did! For when she gazed into his eyes, his features, she saw no welcome. No surge of joy. His expression held nothing of tenderness.

And she thought, in that moment, something inside just shriveled up.

“I’m so sorry”—her voice was half strangled—“that it came to this.”

Something darkened in his eyes. “Do not blame yourself,” he said very quietly.

Anne lowered her chin. She discovered it was the only way she could let enough air into her lungs to breathe again.

At length she raised her head. “When?” she asked levelly.

“I expect as soon as it can be arranged.”

As soon as it can be arranged.

As it happened, the wedding preparations proceeded smoothly. Despite the swiftness of the upcoming ceremony, the gown she was to wear was very à la mode—of course Mama and Caro saw to that. Over the next week it seemed they dashed headlong from shop to shop, like
bees in a frenzy. If Anne could have bowed out, she would have.

Perhaps the hectic pace was something to be thankful for. It left scarcely a moment to think, and therefore no time to dwell, either happily or unhappily, on something that could not be prevented. And while she could not adopt the pretense of joy at her nuptials, it gave her a measure of pleasure to witness the spirited zeal with which her mother and Caro approached the task.

So it was that the night before the wedding, Anne was exhausted.

Shortly after dinner, she withdrew to her room. Just before she was ready to crawl between the sheets, she heard little footsteps running in the hall. The door flew open, and Jack flew inside, naturally followed by Izzie. And just as naturally, Caro trailed after them.

The little ones could not contain their excitement over being a part of the wedding party. They bobbed about her room, like boats upon the seas. Their laughter was infectious.

Izzie scrambled onto her lap. “Mama says I shall wear my pretty new frock tomorrow, and I shall look like a princess, just like you.” Her eyes glowed. “Will I be a princess like you, Annie?”

Anne caught her small body up against her, her heart turning over. There was something
so precious about this moment, and she was loath to let it go…

She pressed her cheek against Izzie’s. “Oh, yes, sweeting, the prettiest princess of all.”

Lizzie’s eyes glowed. “Will Jack be a prince?”

Anne looked at Caro over the top of Lizzie’s froth of curls. “Ah, yes, a prince. Princess Izzie and Prince Jack.”

“No!” Jack startled all of them by letting out a vigorous protest. “I shall not be a prince. I shall be king!” And puffing out his chest, he swaggered across the carpet in quite a princely—or rather, kingly—manner indeed.

Anne bit her lip. Her eyes met Caro’s, who smiled weakly. Jack had vaulted into the middle of the bed. Lizzie squirmed out of Anne’s arms and scrambled after her brother.

“I shall be king,” Jack boasted lustily, his little voice rising higher and higher until it was more squeal than shout. Both were shrieking at the top of their lungs until Caro lunged after both and caught them mid-bounce.

Not until Caro had shushed the pair and gave them over to the arms of their nurse did Anne’s laughter begin to subside. Oh, but she needed that. She hadn’t realized just how much until it was over.

She was still smiling when Caro ventured back a short time later. Barefoot and clad in a
high-necked nightgown, she looked scarcely old enough to be the mother of two, soon to be three.

She blinked when Caro proceeded to scuttle into bed beside her.

“You kept me company the night before I married John,” she announced on seeing Anne’s surprise. “I think it’s only fair that I should return the favor.”

Anne groaned. “John will miss you.”

“So he will. But he knows I’ll be back in the morning. After all, it’s only once that my favorite cousin Annie and I get to share the night before her wedding.”

Anne concealed a wince. And yet, foolish though it was, she was secretly glad that Caro was here.

Caro squirmed around a bit, settling herself before turning to Anne. “Are you all right?”

Had Anne sensed any hint of pity, or anything of the like, she wasn’t sure she could have retained her composure. She steadied her breath. Despite her family’s good-natured teasing, she was a practical and sensible young woman.

Which led to her next thought. Perhaps, she counseled herself cautiously, she should be counting her blessings.

Caro propped herself up on an elbow. “I have an idea,” she announced. “I think we
should weigh the advantages of your next adventure.”

Anne wasn’t surprised that Caro knew precisely what she was thinking. Of course, that wasn’t exactly how Anne would have put it, but it would suffice, she supposed.

Caro continued. “You could do worse, you know.”

Anne arched a brow. “How so?”

“Your soon-to-be husband is not a fortune hunter.”

“Not that we know of,” Anne pointed out.

“Oh, I’m fairly certain of that. He refused a dowry.”

Anne had not been aware of that particular fact. It was, she admitted a trifle grudgingly, rather commendable. She’d always considered the practice unpalatable, as if women were no more than beasts to be bartered and sold to the highest bidder! Of course, that did not make her an admirer of
him
!

Caro went on breezily. “He’s not old as the ancients. He’s not overly padded in all the wrong places.”

“Caro!”

“No, I should never call him a fop.” Caro’s eyes began to sparkle. “Though he is rather fiendishly attractive.”

Anne was sorely put not to roll her eyes. “Yes, dear, you’ve made your opinion abundantly clear on that score.”

“Well, imagine if he were not!” Caro stated as only she could. “You’d end up with children who looked like goblins.”

The corners of Anne’s mouth twitched. No, she decided rather naughtily. That would be her husband who looked like a goblin.

“I knew I could make you smile!”

Anne’s smile, however, was extremely short-lived.

“Annie, what is it?”

Her eyes slid away from Caro’s. She could not hide her uncertainty. “My life is suddenly…so bizarre,” she said haltingly. “It’s happened so fast. Caro…” She floundered. “I still don’t know how it happened. I’m not even sure
why
it happened.”

Caro was still watching her, her lips creased in the tiniest of smiles. “Sometimes it’s just like that.”

“What?” Anne asked. “What do you mean?”

Caro looked at her as if she were crazed.

“Love,” she said simply. “Oh, Annie, sometimes it’s just there and one can’t explain where or how or why or even
when
it happened. It’s just there.”

Anne was stunned. “Caro, I—I don’t love him.”

Caro shook her head. “Annie, I know this is not the way you would have chosen to wed. But I think—oh, I do not know why!—I think it will be all right. That you and Simon…Oh, Annie!

I don’t know how to say it other than I truly believe that the two of you somehow belong together.”

Now it was Anne who looked at her as if she were crazed. Caro was such a romantic. There was a sweetness inside her that barred her from the truth. But Caro was wrong, Anne thought vaguely, cringing to the depths of her soul. Her memory allowed no mercy.
It appears we shall have to marry.
His statement ricocheted through her mind again and again. Caro hadn’t seen the utter lack of emotion in Simon’s eyes, the flatness in his voice.

She could not imagine Simon Blackwell even capable of something so tender as love.

Nor could she bear to tell Caro it would never happen—not with Simon Blackwell.

No, she couldn’t bear for Caro to glimpse her distress.

She and Caro lay awake long into the night. But it was so very different than it had been when they were young, Anne admitted with a pang. When Caro’s eyes finally closed, Anne slipped from the bed, careful not to awaken her.

Resting her hip on the windowsill, she gazed long and hard into the cloudless depths of the night.

Yes, she thought again. So very different…there was no laughter bubbling in her heart, no chorus of song bursting in her breast.
Instead, her every breath grew more bitterly acute than the last.

For there were no stars out tonight to wish upon.

And it wasn’t excitement that held Anne from sleep.

It was dread.

The ceremony took place at nine the next morning.

A tepid sunshine shone weakly through the curtains in the drawing room. Simon had taken his place beside her, his carriage unbendingly erect.

Anne swallowed. She gazed through the gauzy veil at the minister—oh, God, her mother’s veil, for Mama had so wanted her to wear it. She had come to her room this morning, carrying it like a treasure beyond price.

For indeed it was.

Only then did Anne realize that this particular aspect of her wedding attire had been neglected.

“Anne,” she said with that tender little smile that had always wrought so much pleasure. “You are my only daughter. I want you to wear the veil that I wore the day your father and I married. May you be blessed as I was blessed. And God willing, perhaps someday your daughter shall wear it too.”

“Mama—” The swell in Anne’s throat closed off her breath and her words. She felt as if she would break into a hundred little pieces as her mother placed it on her head. With gentle reverence, Vivian tugged the wispy layers into place.

Mama,
she cried brokenly inside.
Oh, Mama.

To her credit, she did not cry. Nor did she waver as she spoke her vows.

And then the veil was being lifted away, revealing her face.

She knew she was pale. She could feel her skin whitening.

Her gaze veered upward. A jolt shot through her as she realized that Simon was staring straight at her.

Time hung unending…the man unbending.

Would he kiss her? she wondered wildly. Did she even want him to?

His head lowered. His lips brushed hers. The contact was polite, perhaps even respectful—and could scarcely be called a kiss, Anne decided almost lividly, for it was bestowed in such a manner that she was convinced it was accorded only out of requirement.

God, why did he even attempt to such pretense!

He turned and offered his elbow. She sorely longed to plant her own squarely into his ribs! It was
her
restraint, she decided, that was accorded only out of requirement.

As was the custom, Vivian had planned an elaborate wedding breakfast. Meals in the McBride household were never a laborious affair, particularly not when Jack and Izzie were so lively, and neither was this one. At the far end of the table, Vivian and Simon’s Aunt Leticia were engaged in animated discussion.

She was not, she acknowledged, the first woman to marry a man she did not love; such was the rule rather than the exception. The acknowledgment was both painful and reassuring. No matter how it came about, marriage was intended to be a celebration of two lives joined together, hardly a funeral. What purpose would melancholy serve?