To Wed A Viscount (11 page)

“I've grown up in the country, around animals my entire life,” Faith said. “I certainly understand the . . . ahem . . . basic mechanics involved. But I was wondering, is it usually done in darkness? And what about nightclothes? Are they worn or removed?”

“I'm sure there are no specific rules or protocol about clothing,” Meredith said after a few very long seconds. “Mother did mention that as much as a husband will admire you in a lovely gown, he much prefers a wife to be out of it. Apparently it increases the enjoyment. As does having sufficient light. And a variety of locations. And positions.”

“Positions? Egad!”

Meredith's stoic expression crumbled slightly. “All right. I admit I didn't understand what she meant about the positions, either. At the time, I was thinking too much about being naked in a well-lit room to ask.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “The location comment I believe refers to making love in a place other than a bedchamber. Or on a bed.”

“Like in a moonlit garden?”

Meredith looked a little surprised. “Yes, I suppose that is quite possible.”

“Oh, I feel certain it is,” Faith said with a sly smile, remembering the previous night.

Once she had feared that Griffin might find her unappealing and unattractive, but last night in Lady Dillard's garden he had proven his desire for her.

She remembered with pleasure the spiral of heat that had slid through her entire being at the touch of his lips, the way she had trembled at his gentle touch, pushing herself boldly forward to experience each marvelous new sensation. It had been heavenly.

The sound of his deep silken voice, telling her that he would wait until they were wed before claiming her as his own. He would show more respect than his brother and wait until they were wed. Unlike his brother. Not until they were wed.

“Oh, my dear Lord,” Faith whispered in horror, as the true meaning of his words sank into her brain.
He
would wait!
Because his brother had not waited. His brother had compromised her,
ruined
her.

It cannot be true!
Yet as she repeated Griffin's words of last evening over and over in her head, Faith knew she was not mistaking his meaning. Overwhelmed by passion, excited by his kisses and sensuous caresses, she had not been coherent enough last night for the words to have effect. Here in the cold, stark reality of daytime, the meaning became horribly clear.

The only reason Viscount Dewhurst agreed to marry her was because he thought she had been ruined by his brother and it was now his duty to set this wrong to rights.

“Oh, my dear Lord,” Faith repeated. How utterly depressing.

Meredith reached out and patted Faith's fingers awkwardly. “I really don't think there is any reason to become distressed over these intimate aspects of marriage. Mother assured me that physical relations between a man and woman can be extremely pleasurable and improve greatly over time.”

“Improve?” Faith squeaked.

“Oh, yes.” Meredith blushed. “Lord Dewhurst does look at you with such smoldering passion at times. He is certainly intrigued by you. If you pardon my saying so, he strikes me as a man who knows his way around a boudoir. Whatever you don't know, I'm sure he would be pleased to teach you.”

Faith nearly shouted her thoughts aloud, but they were simply too embarrassing to voice. Just imagining that Neville, who had been sparing in his attention, let alone in his affections toward her, attempting a seduction was ludicrous. That he would have succeeded was pure fiction.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“What?” Faith rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. Questions? “No, no more questions, Merry. I thank you for your candor this day. I know it wasn't easy.”

Meredith stood up. Her face revealed deep relief. “I shall have Cook prepare a light respite for you. I heard you barely ate any breakfast this morning. Ignore your nerves and eat a hearty meal. You must keep up your strength. We certainly can't have the bride fainting at the altar.”

Faith managed a wobbly smile. “A fainting bride. That would be a most disastrous turn of events, would it not?”

 

 

The elegant carriage carrying the bride, Meredith, and Aunt Agatha arrived a few minutes early at the stone steps of the old church.

“I'm glad the rain has held off,” Meredith commented.

“Yes, that is a stroke of good luck,” Aunt Agatha agreed.

Faith made no effort at even a polite comment. She had spent the entire carriage ride trying to establish a firm grip on her nerves. Her mind was in turmoil. For the past hour she had paced the floor of her room, the train of her lovely gown sweeping the carpet clean, as she tried to convince herself that there was a simple, easy solution to this dilemma.

If only she could think of the appropriate words, the precise phrasing that would reveal this newly discovered truth to Griffin in such a manner that it would make no difference in his decision to become her husband.

Yet she feared greatly that once he knew it was not necessary to marry her for honor's sake, he would wish her well and walk out the church doors. Without her.

The notion brought on anxiety of almost hysterical proportions. She was so close, so close to achieving her dream of marriage and motherhood. 'Twas almost too cruel to have been given this glimpse of paradise before it was so unceremoniously snatched away.

You could wait
, a nagging voice inside her head whispered.
You could wait until after the ceremony.

“Oh, shut up,” Faith muttered under her breath, mortified at this shameful aspect of her character that had been dominating her thoughts.

“Is something wrong, Faith?” Meredith inquired.

“I'm just a bit nervous,” she answered.

“It's to be expected,” Aunt Agatha said. “Most brides—Oh, gracious!”

With a decidedly lackluster display of interest, Faith turned to see what had caused Aunt Agatha's midsentence outburst. She cast only a cursory glance out the window and was treated to the sight of a large coffin, carried by several stout pallbearers descending the church steps.

Absently, Faith noted the presence of the hearse, solemnly awaiting its burden, and the horses, wearing long black plumes upon their heads, prancing impatiently. They seemed rather high-spirited and unsuitable for the task ahead.

As the church bells began the somber peal for each year of the deceased's life, Meredith tapped urgently on the roof of the carriage. Her coachman instantly understood her meaning, and the carriage lurched forward. Faith caught only a fleeting glimpse as they drove away of the black-clothed mourners, some no doubt professionals hired to lend dignity and importance to the event.

“What a horribly bad omen.” Aunt Agatha huffed with agitation and reached for her reticule, no doubt in search of her smelling salts.

“It means nothing except that we arrived early at the church,” Meredith insisted impatiently. “We shall circle the block, slowly. I'm certain by the time we return there will be no other carriages.”

Meredith's prediction proved correct. When they returned, the hearse and all signs of the funeral had gone. And a light drizzle had begun.

“ 'Tis raining!” Aunt Agatha exclaimed. “Now that truly is a bad—”

“Nonsense.” Meredith gave her aunt a frigid stare. “This is a joyous day. Hurry inside before you get wet, Aunt Agatha. I'll assist the bride.”

Faith kept a fixed smile on her face as she descended from the carriage. A few drops of rain sprinkled on her face, but she barely noticed them. The heavy weight that had settled on her chest had blocked out all feeling.

She knew the moment she stepped into the church she would have to summon Griffin so she could inform him that she was aware of the true reason for the marriage. And she must then tell him that he was completely mistaken in his assumptions.

She had not been compromised by his brother, or any other man. The misery ran so deep in her spirit, Faith was even unable to summon any indignation over Griffin's poor opinion of her morals and character.

She tried again to formulate the words in her mind, wondering fearfully how she was ever going to find the courage to speak to him. She was barely aware of Meredith fussing with the skirt of her gown, placing her mother's prayer book in her trembling fingers, and giving her a sisterly hug of affection.

“Merry, you must ask Lord Dewhurst to come out to the vestibule. I have a most urgent matter to discuss with him.”

Utter silence greeted her request. With a start, Faith realized she was talking to herself. Fear of losing Griffin had made her hesitate, and that hesitation had cost her the chance to get him alone without causing a major fuss.

Cautiously, Faith peered down the long aisle. She could see that Meredith and Aunt Agatha had already taken up a position at the front of the church. Her eyes searched among the three male figures also there, and she easily distinguished Griffin from Meredith's twin brothers, though they all stood together.

Her face hot, Faith stepped out of the vestibule. The urge to turn and run was strong, but she conquered it. She could see the beads of rainwater outside sliding down the lovely stained-glass windows. Candles had been lit on the altar, and their gentle flickering cast an inviting, intimate glow.

All eyes had turned toward her. Everyone was waiting. Faith curled her hands into fists around her mother's prayer book, and with a pounding heart and a head filled with doubts and misgivings, she began the endless walk down the aisle. By the time she reached the altar, her heart was thundering so loudly she was certain that everyone, including the kindly vicar, could hear it.

Yet as Faith gained his side, she couldn't control the skip of her heartbeat at the sight of him. She had forgotten how beautiful he was—not attractive, not handsome, but beautiful. And disturbingly virile. Dressed in his wedding finery, he cut an elegant figure in his tailored blue frock coat and buff knee breeches. His white cravat was tied in a more elaborate knot than usual, and there were gold buttons adorning his finely embroidered waistcoat.

She gazed at his profile, taking in the high set of his noble brow, the fine, straight line of his nose, the square cut of his jaw. Faith swayed on unsteady limbs as she caught a whiff of the scents she had now come to associate with him—the clean smell of soap, the starch of his linen, the tang of leather and masculinity.

Oh, how could she so willingly give him up? She was minutes away from becoming his wife, his companion, his mate throughout this lifetime. Yet if she opened her mouth, that all might change in an instant. He could easily refuse to marry her, and then all would be lost. Her dreams of being his wife, mother to his little boy and perhaps children of her own one day. Mayfair Manor would also be gone, lost to a popinjay cousin and his odious wife.

“Are you cold?” Griffin whispered.

“What?”

“You are trembling. Are you cold?”

“No, I'm not cold.” She stared off into the distance, her eyes unfocused as she tried to formulate the words in her mind that would stop this madness, tried to find the courage deep in her soul to call a halt to the ceremony so she could explain.

“Faith?”

“Yes?” Startled, she turned to face Griffin again.

“ 'Tis your part in the ceremony. You must answer. Will you be my wife?”

For an instant he appeared vulnerable, almost as if he were uncertain of her answer. Then his expression changed to reveal his warm, roguish charm and Faith was lost.

She melted at the gaze of those warm silvery eyes that stared directly into hers. How truly foolish she had been, to so completely underestimate her feelings.

He was more, so much more, than someone she found attractive, engaging, charming. She was in love with this man. And more than anything in the world, she wanted him to be her husband, her companion, her one and only lover.

To her surprise, Faith realized that she was fully prepared to do just about anything to make that happen.

Her conscience warned her loud and clear that she was making a grave mistake, yet her wayward heart simply could not allow this one, slight chance at happiness to slip away unchallenged.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, she whispered, “Yes.”

Tendrils of guilt curled around her heart the moment the word was spoken. She wanted to call it back, to halt the ceremony, to explain herself, but it was too late.

In a matter of minutes the service ended. Dazed, Faith lifted her face toward Griffin. He gave her a warm smile that made her feel like an utter toad, and then his lips descended on hers in a proper, chaste kiss.

Meredith rushed forward, tears in her eyes, and soon the rest of the family surrounded the newly married couple, offering congratulations.

Heart thundering with fear and confusion, Faith accepted a hug from Aunt Agatha.
Wait! Stop. I must explain!
Glancing over the older woman's shoulder, Faith caught Griffin's eye. His roguish smile of delight sent yet another tremor of guilt through her entire body.

She shut her eyes in dismay.
Dear Lord, what have I just done?

By the time the guests were seated around the dining room table, the rain had stopped. Griffin glanced at the various elaborate dishes spread before them, wondering idly how they would possibly make any noticeable progress in eating all this food. It seemed as though Lady Meredith had instructed the staff to prepare dishes for sixty guests, instead of the six that were in attendance.

Clearly no expense had been spared, evidence of Lady Meredith's deep affection for the bride. The finest silver, crystal, and china graced the table, along with whispery lace-edged tablecloths, napkins, and beeswax candles.

Servants, formally dressed in powdered wigs and gold-trimmed dark blue livery, moved soundlessly about the room, anticipating each guest's needs. The scent of fresh flowers blended with the succulent aromas of the tantalizing food, and the flickering candlelight provided an almost fairy-tale atmosphere.

Though the wedding feast was worthy of the regent, Griffin noticed his bride had allowed very little food to be placed on her plate. She picked at the tender medallions of veal in cream sauce and fresh asparagus, pushing the items around with her fork whenever anyone happened to glance her way.

“Are you not hungry?” Griffin asked.

“Not especially.” Pursing her lips, Faith lowered her wine goblet to the table. “Have you a minute to spare for your bride, my lord? There is something I need to discuss with you.”

Griffin's eyes met hers across the rim of his own wineglass. “Only a minute? Less than three hours ago I pledged you a lifetime, dearest.”

Faith looked oddly dubious at that remark. “All I require is a few minutes,” she responded.

Griffin regarded his brand-new wife. She had sat by his side throughout the small supper party, uncharacteristically fidgeting in her chair, almost as if she were too nervous to sit still. It was a wonder that the fabric of her pale blue silk gown hadn't been crushed into a mass of wrinkles, since she had arranged and rearranged the skirt so many times.

Despite the very small number of guests, it had been a lively meal, with much laughter and telling of childhood stories. Faith had initiated no conversation, joining in only when she was directly asked a question or expected to comment. To Griffin, her merriment had seemed forced at times, her laughter overbright.

He had imagined that she would be happy on this, her wedding day, yet she had smiled only briefly throughout the day, and the joy had not quite reached her eyes.

Griffin attributed her attitude to excitement and nerves and viewed her with an unusual sense of pride. He had never seen her look more lovely. The blue gown showcased her fine, creamy skin, and the halo of white flowers crowning her dark brown hair gave her an innocent, fresh look that made him feel both protective and aroused.

The nervous tapping of Faith's fingernail on the stem of her crystal goblet drew his attention to her hand and the simple gold and ruby ring she wore. His wife. 'Twas almost too impossible to believe.

“Can our little discussion not wait until after the meal is concluded?” he asked, leaning close so as not to be overheard. “Lady Meredith's staff has gone to such great pains to produce this lovely feast. It would be rude to abandon it so soon.”

“We need not be gone more than a few minutes,” Faith replied. “I fear I have already waited too long.” Her voice trailed off to a dull murmur.

Griffin's gut clenched. What the devil did she mean? Such clandestine mystery was not part of Faith's nature. Or was it? How much did he really know about his new bride? True, they had grown up together, but those childhood memories were no indication of her current character.

Striving to lighten the seriousness of her mood, he said, “Come, madame, there cannot be anything of such grave importance that would tear us away from our wedding feast. We are to leave in another hour. Can you not wait to reveal your secrets until then?”

“Secrets long held can often be the most dire,” she whispered.

The amusement fled from his face. “I was merely jesting. Your tone and attitude suggest that you are not.”

“It was not my intention to alarm you,” Faith said quickly. She lifted her goblet and took a healthy swallow of wine. “Perhaps this discussion is best saved for later.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” A hint of red crept into her cheeks. “I'm being foolish. Forgive me.”

Relief flooded him, followed by a spurt of devilish teasing. “Now you have aroused my curiosity. Shall I try to guess? Will you tell me that you have a penchant for drinking large quantities of Madeira in the early afternoon? A difficult, but not impossible habit to overcome.”

“Griffin,” she said, with an undercurrent of warning in her tone.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You have already buried four husbands, all of whom died under suspicious circumstances?”

“Good heavens!” Faith rolled her eyes heavenward, but the slight upward curve of her lips spurred him on.

“I know. You snore. Abominably loud.”

“Griffin!”

Meredith raised her head to stare at them. Griffin flashed her his most charming grin, then turned his attention back to his wife. “It seems as though all I have done since I inherited this bloody title is have serious discussions. I'm relieved to be spared that on our wedding day.”

There was a wealth of sympathy in her soulful brown eyes. “It will keep,” she said quietly.

“I'm most pleased to discover you are not a woman who must always have the final word in a discussion or argument,” Griffin commented with an easy smile. “It bodes well for our future.”

“Really?” She drew a measured breath.

“Yes.” He bent his head low and brushed her temple in a tender, chaste kiss. “For I am a man who cannot let a discussion rest unless I have had the last word.”

Faith smiled, as Griffin had intended, and this time the delight of amusement did reach her eyes.

The newlyweds left as soon as the meal concluded, after another round of hugs and well wishes. Since he no longer had a London town house, Griffin had planned to cover only a few short miles on the journey home to the country, intending to stop for the night at a fancy posting inn that boasted superior accommodations.

He thought it a charming place and hoped his bride would be as pleased with the choice for their wedding night. The matter that seemed so urgent to discuss during their nuptial feast was not brought up during the carriage ride, and Griffin decided his assumption had been correct. Nerves and excitement had made an inconsequential matter seem far more important in Faith's mind.

Upon their arrival at the Sign of the Dove Inn, the viscount and his bride were met by the innkeeper, who offered hearty congratulations and escorted them personally to their rooms.

“There is only a single bedchamber, as his lordship requested,” the innkeeper explained. “Though it has a sizable sitting room and dressing area.”

He threw open the connecting door to demonstrate, and they dutifully peered inside. Griffin watched Faith curiously as she digested this information about their sleeping arrangements. Her already white face grew even paler, but she managed a rather polite tone as she remarked, “ 'Tis a lovely room. I'm certain it shall do nicely.”

The innkeeper beamed under that faint praise, and after assurances from his guests that nothing further was needed, he departed.

At last they were alone.

Faith flitted about the room, making a great show of untying her bonnet and removing her gloves. Griffin took a step closer, and when he was near enough, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against his hip. He tried to make the movement appear casual, but the tilt of her chin told him he hadn't fooled her for an instant.

That sweet, knowing look in her eye just made him want to kiss her even more. Odd, how nearly everything she had done in the six hours since becoming his wife made him want to kiss her.

So he did. With one swift motion, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. Her lips parted almost immediately, and he quickly took advantage of her sensual invitation. He could taste the champagne she had drunk at their nuptial dinner on her tongue, and that special, sweet warmth that he had come to appreciate as only hers.

Faith grasped the lapels of his coat and leaned into him, heaving a little sigh of excitement. Her eagerness made the need inside him build and coil low in his gut. She began pressing soft, feathery kisses along his cheek and jaw, punctuating each kiss with a low murmuring sound, and he felt a fresh stirring of desire blended with a rush of tenderness.

Griffin caught Faith's chin between his fingers and raised her face up for a tender, delicate kiss. He could feel the fine sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead and knew if he didn't slow down he would have her on her back, with her skirts raised within minutes.

He couldn't remember a time when he had felt greater anticipation for a woman. With her plain looks and slender form, Faith had somehow effortlessly roused a hunger in him that sent his blood surging thick and hot through his entire being.

“Your maid is waiting outside to help you prepare for bed,” he whispered against her mouth. “I fear if we do not stop kissing this very instant, the poor girl will fall asleep in the hallway still awaiting your summons.”

Faith pulled back and stared into his eyes. Her fingers slowly traced the contours of his face as if she were memorizing every line. The expression on her face was so tender that Griffin felt a sharp, brazen, almost primal need to claim her as his own—before she slipped away from him.

Shaking off those fanciful thoughts, he turned away. His arms felt empty, so he filled his hands with a goblet and poured himself a glass of port that he had no intention of drinking.

His sudden withdrawal seemed to trigger Faith's nerves. When he turned to face her again, Griffin noted that her hands were twisting together so fiercely he feared she would dislocate one of her fingers.

“Are you hungry?” Faith inquired. “Should I ring for a tray of food to be brought?”

Griffin caught her by the shoulders as she paced near him. Briefly he shut his eyes to master his overwhelming desire.

This was her wedding night and their first time together. Griffin wanted everything to be as nearly perfect as possible. He would take his time to explore her body; he would learn the secrets of her passion so that their ultimate joining would be wildly pleasurable for both of them.

“I will adjourn to the sitting room so that your maid may assist you.” His gaze swept over her slowly. “Don't keep me waiting too long, dearest, for I fear I shall burst.”

Griffin backed toward the door, never once taking his eyes off her. Then, with a final smile of encouragement, he shut the door.

At the sound of the latch closing the door, Faith shivered and hugged her arms tightly about her waist. Though she tried to look anywhere else, her gaze was fixed on the large bed in the center of the room, with its elaborate, old-fashioned tapestry hangings. It was a massive piece of carved mahogany furniture that sat so high off the floor, a footstool was provided for guests to climb upon to reach the mattress.

The rich blue silk coverlet had been pulled back to reveal linens and pillows that looked fresh and clean, and so utterly inviting. Yet Faith dared not even sit on the edge of the bed.

The silence of the room grated on her already frayed nerves. She ran both hands back through her hair in frustration, heedless of the pins that fell to the floor.

The moment of reckoning was nearly upon her. She had tried, albeit not very hard, to tell Griffin the truth before they had left Merry's home, during the wedding supper. But he had been in no mood to discuss anything of a serious nature, so she had allowed herself to be charmed out of making her declaration.

The carriage ride had been surprisingly brief. Faith initially thought the enforced intimacy of the closed carriage would provide the perfect setting for this serious discussion, but she sensed the moment the coach lurched down the street that Griffin preferred to ride in silence.

Deciding to comply with his unspoken request, she had spent the majority of the journey staring at her husband's profile, studying the subtle waves in his thick, dark hair, and marveling at how that noble face could so easily set her heart fluttering. By the time Faith had determined there had been enough quiet and gathered her courage, they were pulling into the courtyard of the posting inn.

The arrangement of sharing a single bedchamber had definitely surprised her, but Faith felt she had succeeded in disguising her shock. She thought all married couples had separate bedchambers. Even her own dear parents, who had been very much in love throughout their entire married life, slept in separate rooms.

Apparently her new husband had other notions. Faith glanced once again at the bed, shuddered, and looked away. A subtle knock at the door signaled the arrival of her maid, and Faith welcomed the distraction.

The young woman was actually a servant in Merry's household, loaned to the new viscountess for the journey home. She would return to London within the week and a local girl would be given the honor of serving Faith.

Provided she still was the Viscountess Dewhurst at the end of the week.

Faith pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Having no other choice, she shoved aside that horrifying fear. It was useless to speculate on Griffin's reaction when he discovered the truth.

Faith shivered again and moved closer to the fire. The efficient maid followed her, silently unhooking the tiny row of pearl buttons down the back of her gown. Faith was grateful she needed to give the servant no directions, for she found she could not keep her mind focused on anything but the upcoming event. Her wedding night.