The Marquess of Cake (24 page)

“Then you don’t mind if I take your leave and hunt down the vicar?”

“No, of course not. I can join the kitchen tour.” Not even a kiss?

“If you see any improvements that can be made, please let me know.” Sudden humor crinkled the corners of his eyes. “We had best serve the most famous desserts in the county with you as marchioness.”

A feeling of hope bubbled to life. “You’ll allow me to train a pastry chef ?”

“You may even perform that office yourself, if you like, until your attentions are taken with other duties.”

She blushed. Oh, this would be an improvement over her father’s house. “Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.”

“Michael, or Hatbrook, remember?”

“Yes, Michael.”

He took a step toward her and tucked a finger under her chin.

“May I have a kiss to celebrate the occasion?”

“Of course,” she whispered. Thank heavens some romance remained to her.

He bent his head and matched his lips to hers. His mouth, faintly gritty with crumbs, tasted delightfully of lemon and tea. But it was only a moment before he left her, lips pursed and eyes half closed.

“I have much to do if we’re going to be married next week,” he said, not noticing.

She touched her lips. “Should I tell my family?”

“No, I’ll pull your father aside first, so he doesn’t think I’m being underhanded.”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” Her tone was sour.

“Once he gets over the shock,” Michael snorted.

Alys clasped one of her hands over the other, tightening her fingers together.

He must have seen a change in her expression. “Don’t worry about what they think, Alys. Honestly, they’ll be happy for you. Ecstatic.”

“I expect so.” Jealous too, but pleased by the new opportunities her alliance would bring them.

“And perhaps we’ll have Theo as a brother soon,” he suggested.

“That wouldn’t be bad at all.”

She wished she liked his friend better, but it was Matilda’s opinion of Theodore Bliven that mattered. As he unlocked the door and stepped out, she sank onto a fainting couch and tried to breathe. What had she done?

Only Sir Bartley Redcake returned to London that day. A week later on Monday morning, Alys married Michael in the breakfast parlor of the Farm, with her family, Lady Hatbrook and Beth, and Theodore Bliven in attendance. Her mother had insisted the room be decorated appropriately, despite the family’s recent loss. All black was removed from the room. Pots of ferns decorated with white bows were brought in from the conservatory since the time of year precluded flowers.

Lady Hatbrook’s lips were thinned in disapproval during the entire ceremony, but Beth seemed transported, her face shining above her black bombazine.

Alys wore a dress of navy silk, constructed quickly by her mothe and sisters. She had made her wedding cake herself, which, though small, had kept her occupied and away from her bemused relatives.

After they signed the parish registry, she and Michael were seated for their wedding breakfast. Conversation was stilted among the few guests, with Lady Hatbrook speaking exclusively to the vicar. Only Beth seemed to enjoy herself, in animated conversation with the female Redcakes. Alys was pleased to see the color back in Rose’s cheeks. An additional week in the country had served her well and she hoped the family’s return to London wouldn’t cause her sister to become ill again.

While she was speaking to Gawain about the condition of Redcake Manor, Michael approached her.

“Are you ready to depart?”

Alys looked up at her new husband. “Depart?”

“We are taking a honeymoon trip.”

“We are?” She hadn’t expected it.

He nodded. “It will be a less oppressive atmosphere away from the Farm.”

Alys noticed his gaze had drifted to his mother. She had hoped that lady would return posthaste to London but didn’t know exactly what her plans were. “Do I need to prepare?”

“No, your sisters and mother have it all arranged.”

“Very well.” Her heart fluttered at the idea of being alone with him. It had been so long. She’d been surrounded by family for the past week and, in truth, had scarcely seen Michael since he received the news about his brother.

What kind of honeymoon trip could they have under these difficult circumstances? The only thing she knew for sure was he wanted an heir immediately.

Michael brought Alys to a small cottage near Beachy Head, on the property of an old family friend. The views were famously spectacular and he wanted his new wife to be familiar with the highlights of this part of the world.

But here, with the only light coming from candles and firelight, the windows nearly dark with midwinter twilight, the only view concerning him was the new Marchioness of Hatbrook, holding her hands in front of the fireplace to warm them. Alys, to be precise, whose blatantly red hair caught the firelight and took on a flame of its own. Her tea-colored eyes pulled in the shards of light and seemed to burn gold, more chamomile than Assam.

Had he really married her to get an heir as soon as possible? Yes, in his grief it seemed the wise thing to do, but looking at her now, it was hard to remember a better reason than simple animal lust. She didn’t offer the purity of skin of some untouched society miss. No, her cheeks seemed permanently reddened from years of standing in front of ovens. Her hands were covered in tiny scars and he remem-

bered feeling calluses against his chest the night they’d been together.

But, the beauty of her curvaceous form and the knowledge of how she’d come to have the marks of hard work on her body enticed him.

Despite his city polish and education, the last years had turned him into a farmer, after all. He appreciated hard work.

Alys, who had labored all last week making and decorating her own elaborate wedding cake, complete with entwined marzipan swans on top, even though her father suggested he have one brought down from Redcake’s. Most brides-to-be would have spent the week primping. Alys? She’d made pastries and other desserts too. He’d had to try a bite of the chocolate groom’s cake and was amazed by the depth of flavor.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like some dinner? It will have to be cold tonight, but the hamper is still full. Someone from the main house will bring us meals tomorrow.”

She stared at the fire. “No, I’m not hungry.”

“I’m going to change out of these dusty travel clothes. Would you like to retire first?”

When the footman let them into the cottage, he’d pointed out cans of hot water that had just been brought in and lit the fire in the parlor for them.

Alys didn’t look up. Michael realized she was staring at the wedding ring gracing her hand.

“I can scarcely believe we are wed either,” he said, guessing her thoughts.

“Two weeks ago, when that night happened, I’d never have expected this to be the result,” she said in a low voice.

“Me either. But everything has changed.”

Alys’s mother had made sure to supply a mourning wardrobe for Alys, which she’d have to wear for the next six months in honor of Judah. Before they departed Alys had changed from her wedding gown into a black travelling outfit finished with a flowerpot hat of velvet topped with a tall crepe bow. Michael thought the hat looked spectacularly uncomfortable and was not surprised when Alys rubbed her temples now as if they ached.

“For the past two months it has been one change after another.

I’ve always considered myself practical and steady. I knew my place in the world.”

 His fingers itched to pull out the pins holding the silly hat to her head. “It takes time for any new bride to become accustomed to her new life.”

“I never expected to be a bride. I’d given that dream up so long ago.”

“You’ll be fine, Alys. Come, let’s remove your outer clothing. It’s damp.”

She ignored the suggestion. “Will I? I don’t fit into your world.

Your mother detests me.”

“We’ll see her as little as possible. And Beth adores you. Rose can live at the Farm. She’ll be healthier there. We’ll find her a husband locally.”

“You are an organizer.”

“I’ve had to be. Everything was a mess when I inherited. I know you are experiencing immense change, but after all, you’ve been at the Farm for a couple of weeks now, so at least your new home isn’t new to you.” He decided she must disrobe so the fire might have more benefit on her damp skirts, which had swept through a puddle on the way to the cottage door. Stepping close enough to smell her orange-flower-water scent, he pulled at the damp ribbon holding the front of the cloak closed. He couldn’t risk her becoming ill, not when she might be carrying his heir.

She allowed him to take the heavy cloak from her shoulders and slid the sleeves down her arms to display the front of her slim-fitting crepe dress. His gaze was caught by her rounded breasts, lifting with each breath. A bolt of lust sizzled through his lower extremities, hardening him in an instant.

“I wonder if Gawain will find the same financial mess to be true of our family someday. I don’t understand my father’s goals anymore.

Why can’t he be happy with all his achievements? He wanted us to become something we weren’t.”

He knew what she’d stopped short of saying. Alys had soared beyond her father’s wildest dreams when she’d married into the aristocracy. Although with Theo courting Matilda there might be a second title in the family someday. “He should be very proud of you now.”

“Why? Because his daughter whored herself and by a tragic turn of events that led to an advantageous marriage?”

He winced, not at least because he desperately wanted to repeat the act sooner rather than later. Slowly, he unbuttoned his greatcoat and hung it on a hook by the front door, then took a seat on a long settee. Since her back was turned, he was able to subtly rearrange himself before the pain became too intense. “Please don’t think of our night together like that.”

“Why not? We didn’t come together out of love.”

He struggled to keep his expression unchanged at that bald remark. Of course he’d known she didn’t love him. She’d have accepted his first proposal if she did. But to hear it stated so plainly was unpleasant. “If all we have together is lust, my lady wife, then we may as well take advantage of it.”

Her back straightened and her head tilted. With a cry of pain she righted her head and turned to him.

“We are here for an heir, after all. Unless you feel you are already increasing?”

She blinked.

“Alys?” He stood, wincing as the motion rocked his pulsating erection against too-tight clothing. He put his fingers to the first black glass-topped pin holding her hat to her head, not able to stand her obvious pain anymore.

“I don’t know yet.” Her voice was uncharacteristically plaintive.

He held back a smile. “Then let us not waste another opportunity.”

He pulled away the pins holding the hat to her head, then found the comb anchoring it to the back of her head and pulled the contraption away from her hair. Orange strands straightened into the air, giving her a look of a disheveled orange hedgehog.

His erection subsided somewhat as his focus went to containing his laugh. He turned away to set her hat on a table by the fireplace and noticed most of the space was taken by a quilted lump that turned out to be a teapot under a cozy when he investigated.

“Exactly what we need,” he declared. “Will you pour, my dear?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever used an endearment for me before,” she said shyly, her hands flattening her hair as she joined him at the table.

“I cannot imagine how that dashed servant forgot to mention the tea. How remiss of him.” He glanced at her, saw her flush. “Sorry, er, my dear. I plan to use many endearments for you in the future.”

Her lips quirked. “You made a robin’s nest of my hair, I’m afraid.”

“I did think of calling you my little hedgehog.” When she shook a fist at him he laughed. “I did think better of it.”

“In terms of the animal kingdom, I believe my hair is far closer to a mane than spines, Hatbrook.”

“My mistake has me relegated to Hatbrook, I see,” he observed, taking a fragile cup of tea and downing it in one gulp. “Ah, still warm.”

She took the cup from him and filled it again with a dark, fragrant brew, then sat with her own beverage. He could tell she was thinking hard about something as he seated himself at the other end of the settee.

After a couple of moments’ pause, she ventured, “Was some provision made for a maid? This new style is so fitted that I don’t think I can manage myself.”

“I will play maid tonight.”

She rested her cup on her lap and began to cough.

“My dear?” he inquired.

“I do not think so, Michael.”

“Why not?”

“You have no idea,” she said, her voice hoarse. “The strings and buttons, the hooks and tapes. Very tedious.”

“But it will be my pleasure to disrobe you.”

“I cannot allow you to,” she said in a faint voice, staring down at her hands. “Really, Michael.”

“I’ve seen all of you before.”

“I was in the bath,” she said, even fainter. “I was a wanton, not a wife.”

He liked the idea of a wanton Alys, hungry for him. “I shall restate,” he said, polishing off his second cup of tea. “I would like to see all of you.”

He watched her swallow hard. Her cheeks had pinkened and both hands were clutching her teacup so tightly he was afraid she’d break the thing. He leaned forward and plucked it from her cupped palms.

“We are husband and wife now.”

“Most husbands would not take such a liberty.”

“But we are in lust, not love,” he reminded her. “In some ways our relationship is more of mistress to master, not wife to husband.

Therefore more liberties than are usual are to be expected.”

“Because I was born so common?”

“No, of course not. Because we were lovers, first. Don’t you want your naked skin to slide against mine when we make love? Want our bodies flesh to flesh, rather than separated by uncomfortable layers of cotton?”

Her fingers flexed into the thin topmost layer of her dress, bunching the fabric together.