Scoundrel (33 page)

“Lily?”

“What?” Startled, her head snapped up.

“Lady Farnsworth?” the earl prompted.

“What about her?” She knew that was the wrong response the moment it left her mouth. “Oh. Yes. She did see me enter Remmington’s room.” That wasn’t right either. She did the only thing she could under the circumstances. She kept her mouth closed, and bowed her head to scowl at Remmington’s boots.

“It seems obvious that taking Lily about in public was a mistake,” Remmington said “The shooting only makes an immediate wedding all the more advisable. The guests who didn’t leave yesterday will be gone by this afternoon, and I’m sure Holybrook could be persuaded to lend his chapel for the ceremony. We could be married tomorrow. As newlyweds, no one will think it unusual if we remain secluded for a time.”

“Well, Lily?” Her father waited until she met his gaze. “You have a decision to make.”

Lily bit her lip. What she said now would affect the rest of her life. One decision seemed as potentially disastrous as the other. She could refuse Remmington’s offer and become a spinster. She could marry him and hope that his fondness for her might develop into something deeper. His history with women was not reassuring in the least. He might find his role of knight to her damsel in distress amusing for a time, but he could just as easily grow tired of the part and of her. He could break her heart. “I would like to think about this tonight and give you my decision tomorrow.”

Crofford shook his head. “I don’t see any point to dragging this out until tomorrow. You are my daughter and I will support whatever decision you make, but in your heart I think you know there is only one correct answer.”

Remmington’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulder. Lily knew it shouldn’t, but that small, worried gesture influenced her decision.

They were married the next day.

Lord and Lady Holybrook were nothing less than delighted to play host and hostess to the proceedings, and they insisted on a lavish wedding dinner afterward as part of their wedding present. Sophie was still weak from her ordeal, but the physician allowed her to attend the ceremony as long as she promised to remain immobile on a small settee. Lord Holybrook even had footmen carry Sophie into the dinner that followed, settee and all.

“I believe all Sophie needs is a turban,” Lady Bainbridge told Lady Holybrook. Sophie’s aunt sat next to her on the settee to help Sophie manage her meal. “With all this fuss and her colorful wardrobe, she looks very much like a visiting princess from some exotic Eastern empire.”

Propped up on satin pillows and swathed in one of Lady Holybrook’s velvet cloaks, Sophie did indeed look like a princess at her leisure. “Lily’s bridal crown makes her look much more the princess than me,” Sophie replied. “I feel like the dotty relative who insists on wearing her nightclothes to the dinner table.”

Lily didn’t think she looked much like a princess. Her wedding gown was the same ice-blue dress she had worn the night they arrived at Holybrook House. She reached up to touch the wreath of flowers that held her hair in place, a lush confection of tiny pink roses and baby’s breath created by Lady Holybrook’s gardener. The bridal crown did make her feel exotic, different somehow. Or perhaps it was the ceremony that had just taken place, the sense of unreality she had felt as she stood next to Remmington and listened to him repeat the words that would bind them together for life. She expected to wake up at any moment, to find this was nothing but a dream.

“I thought your friend, Lord Gordon, would remain for the ceremony,” Lady Holybrook said to Remmington.

“Harry left for London with the Penroses before he learned of our wedding plans,” Remmington said. “Lily and I preferred a small ceremony. Our wedding in your chapel was what we’d both hoped for, and we shall always be grateful for your generous hospitality.”

“You do us honor, Your Grace,” Lord Holybrook said in a solemn tone. “I do not think Holybrook House has ever hosted the wedding of a duke. It shall be all the talk for quite some time.”

“Wasn’t your daughter, Sally, married here just last year?” Sir Malcolm asked Lord Holybrook.

“Lud, yes. What a to-do. The gel insisted on a wedding breakfast for two hundred people.”

“Two hundred and twenty,” Lady Holybrook reminded him, then she proceeded to tell the story herself.

The conversation drifted around the table, but Lily found herself preoccupied with her own thoughts. Already the day seemed a blur, except for that moment when she’d entered the chapel just before the ceremony began. Remmington had stood near the altar, turned to face her. The intensity of his gaze had drawn her forward until she’d stood at his side without being exactly certain how she got there.

“Some brides smile occasionally on their wedding day,” Remmington said in a low voice. His hand found hers under the table. “Are you at all happy about this, Lily?”

“I think I’m still dazed by everything that happened today,” she admitted. “But, yes, I am happy.”

She looked up at him and watched a slow smile curve his mouth. He’d never looked so handsome, she thought, or so dangerously appealing. And now he was her husband. Soon he would take her upstairs and make her his wife in more than just name. The mystery of what lay ahead of them tonight both frightened and excited her.

The sound of her father’s voice drew her attention back to the dinner conversation.

“You have quite a find on your hands with that mummy, Alfred. Greek antiquities are my specialty, but this surpasses anything I’ve seen. Any chance you might open it up before we leave?”

“No!” Sophie’s shout drew everyone’s attention. She gripped her aunt’s arm as if to brace herself against a stab of pain. “You mustn’t open it, Lord Holybrook. That mummy is cursed.”

“Sophie, please,” her aunt chided, “you mustn’t strain yourself this way. You know what the doctor said.” She turned toward Lord Holybrook. “Our underbutler is a native of Egypt. I’m afraid he gave Sophie some rather odd notions about mummies and curses.”

Lord Holybrook nodded toward Sophie. “I can see this matter upsets you, Miss Stanhope. I don’t think the mummy will mind if we wait a few weeks, until Dr. Alexander feels fit enough to oversee the opening himself.”

Sophie shuddered. “Thank you, Lord Holybrook.”

Holybrook nodded, then his gaze went to Sir Malcolm. “An Egyptian underbutler, eh? I hope you will allow a chat with this fellow the next time I pay a visit. Sounds like a fascinating chap.”

Lord Holybrook related a few of his adventures in Egypt, and the talk of curses was forgotten. After dinner the women gathered around Sophie while the gentlemen retired to the library to share a glass of port. Lady Bainbridge and Lady Holybrook talked on and on about their own wedding days, while Lily tried to reconcile herself to the fact that she was actually a wife. Remmington’s wife. If not for the special license and the somberly dressed Reverend Clarion, this might be any other night, any other gathering to laugh and gossip with friends. She couldn’t concentrate on a word anyone said.

“You must be getting tired,” Lady Bainbridge said to Sophie an hour later. “I think it’s time the footmen carried you upstairs again. The physician said you mustn’t overdo things today.”

“I’m really not—” Sophie caught her aunt’s warning glare and fell silent.

“Why don’t you go on ahead to your room,” Lady Bainbridge said to Lily. “It is getting rather late. I’m sure your husband will join you soon.”

“My maid moved your things into the King’s Chamber during dinner,” said Lady Holybrook. “I’ll send her along to help you change.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary, Lady Holybrook. I can manage just fine on my own.” Lily didn’t want a maid hovering about her tonight. The attention would only make her more nervous, if such were possible.

Lady Holybrook looked uncertain, but she finally nodded. “Clara’s right. It is getting rather late. Would you like me to help you walk upstairs?”

Lily didn’t think it was all that late, and she couldn’t imagine why Lady Holybrook thought she needed help to climb a flight of stairs. She frowned and declined the offer. All three women stared at her in the silence that followed.

“Well,” Lily said at last. “I’d best take my leave.”

It wasn’t her best leave. She was nervous and it showed. Her chair nearly tipped over when she stood up too abruptly. That embarrassing blunder only frayed her nerves even further. By the time she reached the staircase, she wished for just a portion of the numbing calm that had sustained her throughout the day. She was trembling so badly that she seriously reconsidered Lady Holybrook’s offer of assistance. Somehow she managed to reach Remmington’s chamber, but once there she had no idea what to do next.

A small fire cast warm shadows in the room and chased off the chill of the damp night air. Lily went to stand before the hearth. She gazed into the flickering orange flames as if hypnotized, holding her hands out to the heat and rubbing them together as if a blizzard raged outside the walls rather than a gentle spring rain.

No more than a few minutes passed before Remmington appeared in the doorway. He didn’t speak a word as he closed the door and slid the bolt into place. She felt a new appreciation for the fright she had given Lady Farnsworth just a few nights past. They were alone. Tonight there would be no interruptions, no unwelcome visitors. In the past his presence had always calmed her, given her a sense of security and trust that he would protect her, even from himself. Tonight she felt awkward and unsure of herself, of everything unspoken between them.

Remmington didn’t move from his place near the door, yet she could feel his gaze on her. Did he consider what they would do tonight just another part of his duty? She felt vaguely embarrassed by that thought.

“It seems so very long since we had a chance to be alone,” she said. “I thought it would be nice if we could just talk for awhile.”

Remmington leaned his shoulder against the door, his gaze appreciative as it swept over her. “Lily, we can never manage just to talk when we are alone together. That has something to do with the reason we are alone together right now.”

She frowned over the reminder that he didn’t marry her by choice. “Yes, well, actually I hoped to talk about our marriage.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late to change your mind.”

The harsh undercurrent in his voice startled her, almost as much as the fact that he even worried about such a possibility. She sat down on a bench next to the hearth and began to twist the slender pink ribbons that trailed down from her bridal wreath. “I didn’t change my mind about anything. I just thought… that is, I hoped… Would you like to sit beside me for awhile?”

He came toward her, moving with the grace of a panther. Rather than sit beside her, he found a stool near the fireplace and moved it so they sat facing each other. “All right, Lily. We’ll talk.” He took her hands between his own, his elbows resting on his thighs. She felt a shock of warmth at his touch, a feeling that soothed rather than alarmed her. Staring down at their joined hands, she realized how easily his hands engulfed hers. He never forced his strength on her, yet he always surrounded her with it, holding her safely within its circle. He brushed his thumb along the sensitive skin of her wrist. “Why don’t I start by saying there is nothing you should be afraid to tell me. Nothing you should be afraid to ask.”

He made it sound so simple. Caught up in this forced marriage, he spoke to her as a husband would who cared for his wife. She knew he felt a certain amount of affection for her. She wondered if it would be enough, if he would agree to her request. “Actually, I thought we might discuss the terms of our marriage.”

“What terms?”

He didn’t sound particularly pleased by the prospect of terms, yet his hold on her hands remained steady. No telltale tightening of his grip that might indicate his refusal to consider the notion, no slight loosening that could mean he’d already dismissed the idea. He waited patiently for an explanation. How on earth could she explain? “Not terms, precisely. I was thinking more along the lines of coming to an understanding.”

“Lily, this is not a business transaction. It is a marriage.”

“Oh, I hoped you would see it that way.” She nodded to show her approval. “I realize this is not a love match, and you said yourself that you do not believe in loyalty or devotion within the confines of marriage. You see, I was just a little worried that—”

His grip did tighten then. “What,
exactly
, are you trying to tell me?”

“That I hope you will not consider our marriage just another sham,” she whispered. She looked directly into his eyes, made her gaze remain steady when embarrassment made her want to turn away. This was too important for her to turn evasive or cowardly. She wanted him to understand. “I know that many couples go their separate ways once they are married, that their marriages are, in fact, little more than business arrangements. On the way home from Lady Keaton’s, you gave me the impression that you didn’t think very highly of those marriages. I don’t, either. I want a real marriage.”

For a long moment he didn’t say or do anything. Then he released her hands and flattened his palms against his thighs, his brows drawn together as he stared at the floor between them. Lily returned her hands to her lap to twist the wide gold band he’d placed on her finger during the ceremony. It was a simple ring, without flourish or embellishment, not even the customary engraving on the inside. Without being obvious about it, she’d managed to slip the band off during dinner to check for an inscription, some simple word or even his initials. The inside of the ring looked as smooth and unmarred as the outside. She supposed he didn’t have time to order an engraving. Now she wondered if the thought had even occurred to him.