His Unexpected Bride (3 page)

“Regardless of that, this marriage is in error. It is time to put an end to this conversation and this unwanted marriage.”

“Are you saying you wish to annul whatever ceremony took place last night?” Tess asked, unable to keep hope from her question.

Her father frowned, but the marquess smiled tightly at her as he replied, “It would seem, Masterson, your daughter wishes this marriage no more than I do. There is no time to delay. If we get a quiet annulment …”

“No!” Papa's voice was thunderous.

Tess stared at her father in astonishment as Lord Hawksmoor cursed and winced with pain as he held his hand to his head. Papa often expressed himself with enthusiasm and candid fervor, but she had never heard him speak with such cold vehemence.

“Papa—”

“Stay out of this, Tess.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it. Getting into a brangle with her father would humiliate him in front of Lord Hawksmoor. She sat on the very end of the chaise longue as she watched the two men face each other. They reminded her of two dogs sizing up each other as they met for the first time.

But that made no sense. Papa had known Lord Hawksmoor's father for years, for they once had belonged to the same club in London. Papa no longer belonged to that club, because, she guessed, the money was not available for the dues. He had traveled often to London in recent months, but she had not heard him speak of the club again.

When the duke had died last year, Papa had delivered his condolences to the duchess in person. He had been at the family's estate of Peregrine Hall for nearly a week for the funeral. Surely Papa must have spoken with Lord Hawksmoor, the duke's younger son, while there.

So why were they acting as if they were strangers? It was all too puzzling.

Lord Hawksmoor's eyes narrowed, but no other expression eased his taut face as he took another wobbly step toward her father. “Masterson, why do you wish to bring your daughter unhappiness in being wed to a man she barely knows?”

“Because if you annul this marriage, she will never find another man willing to marry her.” Papa flung out his hands, his voice still booming so loudly Tess suspected it would reach the kitchen. She wanted to urge him to lower it, especially when he added, “You spent the night with Tess, Hawksmoor. Who would have her now?”

“She is untouched.”

“So you say.”

“And so she says.” Lord Hawksmoor put his hand on the blanket over her shoulders. Was his motion meant to comfort her? It did not, for his chaste caress brought to mind how his arms had enveloped her and held her to his firm body. “Speak the truth to your father, Miss Masterson.”

“Nothing untoward happened, Papa,” she hastened to say. “Lord Hawksmoor is being honest about that.” She clenched her hands under the blanket as she gave her father a supplicating look. He must be able to find a way to put an end to this, and she longed to beg him to do so. Unable to speak the truth—that this man frightened her—for she did not want to heap insult on Lord Hawksmoor, she shivered. 'Twas not Lord Hawksmoor who scared her, but the power his kisses had had over her, stealing her good sense and teasing her to find a way to sample another one.

She could not keep her gaze from him. His wrinkled shirt clung close to his muscular chest, and its full sleeves could not hide his brawny arms. With his hair tousled and his eyes still heavy with sleep, he had a charm that teased her to trust him.

Was she as mad as she had accused him of being? This man had spent last night drinking so much that he had agreed to marry her.

Agreed? Why had Papa even allowed Dr. Tucker to begin the marriage ceremony? Had Papa
and
the vicar been so intoxicated as well? She wanted to ask her father that question, but did not have a chance.

“He is being honest that he did not touch you?” her father asked, now scowling. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I did not know he was here in my room until he woke me.”

“Woke you?” Papa demanded. “How?”

Tess was sure her cheeks were aflame, because a potent heat surrounded her. In the glass in the hallway, she could see servants clustering near the door, eager to eavesdrop on what was happening within her rooms. The door beyond the bed was ajar, held open by a single finger, so Jenette must be listening there as well. Alone? There might be others with her abigail, each one agog with what was taking place. Even if Papa ordered the servants not to gossip, she knew at least one of them would be unable to keep this tale untold. Before day's end, everyone in the parish would know of how Miss Masterson had found herself surprisingly married to a marquess.

“Tess,” Papa said sternly, “you may now be a marquess's wife, but you remain my daughter, and you will give me the courtesy of an answer to my question.”

She raised her head and met her father's eyes evenly. Yet, in spite of herself, her gaze shifted … to Lord Hawksmoor's. Why was he not revealing any hint of what he was thinking? He should be furious, stamping about the room with a curse that would burn her ears.

Lord Hawksmoor might be stolid, but Papa was not, for his impatience heightened his voice. “Tess? How did this man wake you?”

“He woke me with a kiss,” she answered, knowing that lying now would only worsen the situation.

Lord Hawksmoor's fingers bit into her shoulder before he snatched them away. “This whole discussion is ludicrous, Masterson. I was drunk last night. Your daughter was horrified to find me in her bed this morning.”

“Her bed?” Papa's mouth twitched, and something sparked in his eyes. She had an odd sensation that
this
was what Papa had waited to have said.

“Where we slept as innocently as two pups.”

“Without a watch-dog, however.”

“True,” Lord Hawksmoor said. He reached for his coat, which had been tossed, she noticed, on the foot of her bed. Seeing it there suggested a familiarity that did not exist. “And it is just as true your daughter remains a maiden—if she was one before last night.”

Tess leaped to her feet and closed the door to the hallway. She heard the door to her dressing room click shut, and she guessed Jenette did not want to be caught eavesdropping. Picking up her dark blue wrapper, she pulled it on and buttoned it from her waist to her chin. Only then did she face her father and the marquess.

“I trust, my lord,” she said coldly, “you can continue this conversation without resorting to demure hits. I have made every effort not to point a finger of blame at others involved in this bumble-bath. If you will recall, I am an innocent victim of this
contretemps.
”

“Innocent being the critical consideration, I collect.” Lord Hawksmoor shrugged on his coat.

“Yes.” She would not be intimidated by his unrelenting calm. If he thought to betwattle her and her father with it, he was wasting his time … and theirs. She had seen the passion in his eyes when he stood by her bed and drew her into his arms.

Something flickered through his eyes now before he looked once more at her father. Was Lord Hawksmoor astonished she would not cower before his frigid serenity?

Smoothing wrinkles from his coat, the marquess said, “You have heard your daughter's comments, Masterson. Neither she nor I wish to be married to each other. If we handle this quietly, we all can return to our lives as they should be.”

“You know that is impossible.”

“I know there are ways of resolving any problem.”

“Mayhap you do, but I believe there is nothing else to be said.” Papa patted the front of his coat. “I have Tess's copies of your marriage agreement here, and I will repeat what I told you when I entered the room. Welcome to the family, Hawksmoor.” He glanced at Tess, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Tess was tempted to run after him and throw the door aside and shout that she would not be forced into this marriage with a man who did not want to be her husband. She did not move as she continued to stare at the flowery design on the rug.

“Weeping will gain you little favor in my mind,” the marquess said.

“Weeping?” She raised her head and scowled at him. “I am giving in to neither tears nor vapors, my lord. I fear I am too enraged for either.”

“I have no interest in your scolds.”

“I have already seen what you have interest in.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “First finding the bottom of a bottle of brandy and then seducing me when you believed I wished to welcome you into my bed as my husband.”

He lowered himself carefully to the bed, and she flinched. She did not want him making himself so comfortable in her private chambers.

“You are my wife,” Lord Hawksmoor said.

“You did not remember that when you tried to persuade me to surrender to you. You did not know then I had been buckled to you by proxy.” She arched a brow. “I understand it is the way of a fine lord to have his wife and his mistresses, but—”

“Arguing will gain us nothing.”

The very tranquillity of his words vexed her, but she had to acknowledge the wisdom of them. “That is true.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he said, “I suspect you would like to dress, Miss Masterson.”

“Yes.” Again that unwanted heat soared up her face.

“I own to wishing to wear something that has not been slept in.” Reaching for the bellpull beside her bed, he added, “I assure you I will do all I can to straighten out this muddle.”

“As I will.”

“Talking some sense into your father's hard head might be a good place to begin.”

“Why are you lambasting my father for being unthinking when you are more at fault than anyone in this?”

“I am aware of my complicity. My only excuse is that I, for some reason I cannot fathom now, drank too much, and I let myself act before realizing the consequences.”

“Which you do not customarily do?”

He regarded her with eyes as cool as his frown. “It is not my habit to act so out of hand, Miss Masterson. You need only ask anyone who knows me well, and they will reassure you there must be more to this whole thing than drunken revels.”

“Papa is the only person I know who also knows you.”

“He seems an untrustworthy witness to my character at this time.”

“Or a very accurate one.”

He stepped toward her. Hearing the dressing room open behind her, she could not look to Jenette for help, because he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up. “Ask yourself, Miss Masterson, why your father would think so poorly of me at the same time he rejoices in the fact we are wed.”

Jenette's gasp was loud in the room. Tess was held by the cold anger in Lord Hawksmoor's eyes. There were so many answers she was ready to give him, but each one disintegrated into illogic before she could speak it.

“I do not understand any of this,” Tess murmured.

“On that, we agree wholeheartedly.” He released her and bowed his head toward her. “May I ask that we have an opportunity to discuss this before I leave for London?”

“Leave?”

He nodded. “I had intended to be on my way at first light, but …” He walked to the door with slow but even steps.

Tess put her hand over her mouth to keep from shouting at his back. How could he be considering taking his leave when they were in the midst of this insanity? Slowly she lowered her left hand, staring at it. No ring announced that she was now a stranger's wife.

“Oh, la,” murmured Jenette as she inched closer. “What a fine looking man you have taken as your husband, Miss Masterson!”

“He is
not
my husband!”

“But Mr. Masterson said—I mean, I heard the marquess say that—”

Tess waved her abigail to silence. With two fingers, she rubbed her forehead, which now was aching, too. What a mess! There must be some way to find a way out of it with her reputation—and Papa's—intact.

Sending Jenette to order bath water and to bring the blue gown she wished to wear today, Tess went to the table where Heddy's cage was covered with its cloth. She started to lift the cloth, but the little hedgehog would be asleep now that the sun was up. Although she longed to talk to her beloved pet, she would not disturb Heddy, who could be ill-mannered when she was bothered.

She walked away from the table and threw open the draperies at the closest window. Sunshine flooded into the room, chasing away her gloomiest thoughts.

Those thoughts returned, doubly strong, when she turned to face the bed and saw the indentations on
two
pillows. Two questions remained that she must have an answer to before this marriage lasted a day longer. Whose idea had it been for Lord Hawksmoor to marry her? And why had nobody halted it?

Three

The breakfast-parlor was filled with enticing scents when Cameron entered it. On a sideboard, steaming trenchers offered eggs, kippers, bacon, potatoes, and other foods that would add to the nausea in his gut. Two maids stood by a door he suspected led to the kitchen, and a footman was as still as the dour man in a portrait by the arched window. A delicate wallcovering of some sort of flower entwined with vines added an inviting touch to the walls, but Cameron would have gladly been anywhere else but here.

At the table, Eustace Knox sat gustily enjoying a heaping plate of food from the sideboard as well as a stack of toast and at least one muffin from the basket close to his left hand, if the crumbs on the white damask tablecloth were any indication. He was a man who obviously savored life, for his belly was round and his smile broad. Dressed as always in the finest fashion, he also was a man who had the misfortune to be born into a family whose fortune came from trade rather than title. Eustace's father had followed in his own father's footsteps as an ironmonger. A fortune filled Eustace's pockets as if his family's forges were minting coin rather than iron and steel.

But it was Eustace's zest for life and all the pleasures it offered that had gained him welcome among the
ton
. There were whispers a title might come his way when the Prince Regent assumed the throne. No one spoke too loudly of that, however, for it would be paramount to wishing mad old King George dead.