At the predatory look in his eyes Isabella felt herself give an involuntary shiver. Perhaps her betrothed was not so easygoing as she had at first thought.
Fifteen
When they arrived in the village of Gretna they set out at once to the nearest blacksmith, where they were married in a brief ceremony that was a far cry from the pomp and circumstance that had accompanied Isabella’s first marriage. Instead she stood up with Trevor before the anvil priest with a nosegay of violets and calmly recited her vows. Trevor’s kiss was brief and not nearly as passionate as the one they’d shared the night before, and she could not decide whether she felt relief or disappointment.
“I’ve had the driver arrange rooms for us at the local inn,” he told her as they stepped out into the drizzle of the afternoon. “I hope that is agreeable to you. It is rather late to head back to Nettlefield, and after your lost wheel on the way up from London I did not think you would wish to travel at night.”
She shuddered at the memory of the accident. “You are quite right,” she said. “I thank you for considering it. I would much rather travel during the day.”
He offered her his arm and they made their way to the inn. Once there, he left her to rest in their room while he went to see to the horses.
When she reached their room, however, she realized that one of her cases was missing. As it contained her jewelry box, Isabella was perturbed to find it had not reached her room.
“I’ll go down and see what’s become of it, my lady,” Sanders, her maid, said as she picked up Isabella’s slippers. The maid had arrived in a separate coach with Trevor’s valet earlier in the day.
But restless and not really wishing to nap, Isabella waved her off. “It’s no matter, Sanders,” she said. “I’ll go down and see to it. I wish to find out if the duke has requested a private dining parlor at any rate.”
So it was that Isabella found herself hurrying down the stairs in search of Trevor or their driver or both. As she neared the first-floor landing, however, a rather short man brushed past her.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the man said, bowing slightly. Then, as if only now looking at her fully, he paused. “Oh, Lady Wharton,” he said, a calculating gleam in his eye. “What a delightful surprise.”
Realizing that she was looking at Sir Sidney Phillips, she cringed inwardly. If she and Trevor wished to keep their marriage a secret, then she would need to think quickly.
“Sir Sidney,” she said, adopting her most chilly aristocratic pose. “If you will just excuse me.” She continued past him down the stairs.
“But Lady Wharton,” he protested, following after her. “I hope we will be able to chat. You are the last person I thought to encounter here in the wilds of Scotland, after all. Whatever can you being doing here?”
Isabella shut her eyes in frustration. If she told him to mind his own affairs, he would know at once that she had some sort of secret to keep. Then again, if she engaged him in mindless conversation he would do his utmost to winkle the truth from her anyway.
Before she could reply, however, she spied Trevor striding toward the stairs.
She raised her brows to warn him from coming closer, but her new husband was apparently unable to read eyebrow messages.
“Hello, my dear,” he said, stepping closer and taking her arm proprietarily, “I thought you were resting.”
“I was,” she said though clenched teeth, “but I chanced upon Sir Sidney here.”
As if he’d just noticed the little man who stood before them, gazing back and forth between them like a mongrel spying a juicy bone, Trevor turned to Sir Sidney in surprise. “Ah, I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said with a slight bow. “Ormonde at your service.”
At his words Sir Sidney’s eyes widened. “Lady Wharton,” he gushed, “I had no idea you were acquainted with the duke.”
Trevor laughed. “I should say we’re acquainted,” he said, pulling Isabella closer to his side. “Lady Wharton has just done me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Sir Sidney’s mouth opened and closed, not unlike a hungry trout, Isabella thought nastily. Finally he recovered his powers of speech. “Your wife? My goodness me,” he said, his eyes glowing with glee at being privy to such a prime bit of gossip. “May I offer you both my heartfelt felicitations, Your Graces.”
His eyes twinkling, Trevor leaned forward to the other man, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone you saw us, old man.” To Isabella’s shock, he actually winked. “We don’t want word to get out just yet. We haven’t told my grandmother yet, don’t ye know?”
Though he could not possibly mean to keep his promise, Sir Sidney nodded. “Of course, of course. Think nothing of it. I perfectly understand family obligations and the like,” he said. “And the course of true love and all that … what?”
“Precisely,” Trevor said, smiling beatifically at the other man. “Now, my dear, shall we retire to our chambers? I fear that my wife is quite fatigued after our trip here. You’ll excuse us, won’t you, dear boy?”
Silent, Isabella allowed herself to be escorted up to her chamber, where Trevor dismissed her maid at once.
Once Sanders was gone, Isabella turned to him, frustrated despite their earlier amity. “Why on earth did you tell Sir Sidney about our marriage?” she demanded. “He is one of the worst gossips I know. I would not be at all surprised if he weren’t composing a letter for the post to London right this minute.”
“I am not a fool, Isabella,” Trevor told her patiently. “I am well aware of what Sir Sidney will do. And I told him for precisely that reason.”
“Why?” she asked, her frustration rising. She knew that Trevor was well-intentioned, but she had spent years in London battling the Sir Sidney Phillipses of the world and she was annoyed that her new husband hadn’t bothered to consult her on the matter. “I know the dowager will likely have heard of our engagement from someone who attended the Palmers’ ball, but I had hoped to keep the news of our marriage to ourselves. At least for the time being.”
But Trevor was clearly not as overset about this as she was. Turning to the sideboard where a decanter of brandy had been thoughtfully provided by their host, Trevor poured both himself and Isabella a drink. “I know that’s what we discussed, but I think this will suit our plans just as well.”
He turned and handed her a glass, which she took and sipped. The brandy burned a path down her throat, warming her.
“It is a tactical maneuver,” he said, propping himself up against the sideboard. “I want whoever it is that is trying to terrify you to know that you are under my protection now. That you are no longer dealing with his schemes on your own.”
“It’s not that I do not appreciate your protection,” she began; then catching his skeptical gaze, she shrugged. “Perhaps I do not appreciate it as I should, but I do appreciate it. I simply do not like the notion that I will be seen as hiding behind your coronet.”
“Why the devil not?” Trevor demanded. “I am sure plenty of people will suggest that I am hiding behind your skirts to escape my grandmother’s ire.”
“Surely not,” Isabella said with a gasp; then she realized that he was perfectly right. People would assume that he’d married her as a way of getting back at the dowager. Perhaps even to beat her to the punch when it came to choosing a wife. “I suppose you are right,” she admitted.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” Trevor said, raising his glass to her. “And as I said before, we are partners in this. I will offer you my shoulders for part of your burden and you will offer me yours—slim though your shoulders may be—for part of mine.”
“What if this person strikes out at both of us?” she asked. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might need to fear for Trevor’s safety, but the thought now sent a stab of fear through her. She would not be able to stand it if he was harmed simply because of his proximity to her.
He seemed to realize what she was thinking and crossed to touch her cheek. “We will deal with the consequences no matter what happens,” he said to her, his eyes serious. “Whatever the blackguard tries, we’ll deal with it together.”
Isabella gave a brisk nod, still worried about what might happen to him as a result of their union, though she supposed it was too late to worry about such a thing now. After all, they were well and truly married now.
“I’ve asked the innkeeper to serve supper up here,” Trevor said, taking the seat opposite and stretching his legs out before him. “I hope you don’t mind. Though I suppose we could go down and search out your friend Sir Sidney as a dinner companion if you wish it.”
His eyes lit with mischief and she couldn’t suppress a laugh, grateful for the gentle teasing. “I assure you that I am quite content to have dinner alone without our gossiping friend. I find that I’m quite famished and do not wish for my appetite to give rise to untoward gossip.”
Realizing how those words might be construed, she felt a blush rise. But if Trevor noticed he didn’t say anything.
Excusing himself to change out of his travel dirt, he left her alone to do the same. Isabella felt a frisson of excitement at the thought of what might happen between them once dinner was over. It had been a long time since she’d been to bed with a man. And she guessed that Trevor would be as energetic and thoughtful in bed as he was out of it.
She gave a shiver at the thought and gave herself over to her maid to ensure that she was as ready as she could be for whatever might happen between her and Trevor tonight.
* * *
Trevor couldn’t stop watching her.
It was hardly odd, given that she was the only other person in the room. And he was conversing with her. But a small part of his brain was watching her as she talked. Cataloging every contour, every curve. Reveling in the knowledge that the woman sitting opposite him was his wife.
His wife. He hadn’t even known her last week, and now he was tied to her for the rest of their natural lives. It was insane.
But even as he listened to her recount a funny story about the antics of a clown at Astley’s Amphitheatre when she was a child, his body was aware of her. Wondering what it would feel like when all those delicious curves were uncovered and pressed against him.
He felt like a beast, but there it was. He was looking forward to bedding his wife.
“Your Grace,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “is there something amiss?”
He sat up straighter. “Why would you ask?” he said, though he knew good and well why.
Up went that questioning dark brow. “You have been watching me with all the tenderness of a butcher eying a suckling pig.”
That startled him into a laugh. “I can assure you that butchery is as far from my thoughts as it could possibly be.”
She raised a hand to her throat and fingered the garnet cross there. “Then why do you stare?” she asked. “If you are having second thoughts about the marriage, then you might have considered that before you broadcast our marriage to Sir Sidney.”
“You worry too much,” he said, hoping his smile took the sting from the words. “I am having no second thoughts about you or the marriage, and Sir Sidney Phillips is the last thing on my mind.”
“Then what?” she demanded, her cheeks growing pink, as if she had begun to guess the tenor of his thoughts.
“What, indeed,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand to pull her up with him.
The servants had long ago cleared the dishes from their supper, and Isabella had dismissed her maid for the night.
“Isabella,” Trevor said, bringing her closer to him. “I would like very much to make love to you.”
She looked down, and he saw her cheeks grow pinker.
When she didn’t respond he bent his knees so that he could look into her downturned face. “What’s amiss?” he asked quietly. “Bridal nerves?”
But she shushed him. “It’s not that,” she whispered, her voice thready, a far cry from her usual confident tones. “I … that is to say … my…”
He longed to fill in the words for her, but he had no notion of what she was trying to say. So, painful as it was, he waited.
“… my husband,” she began, taking a deep breath and turning her face up to meet Trevor’s gaze. “My husband said that I wasn’t very good at it,” she said quickly. “Bedsport, I mean. So I am willing, but I hope you won’t be disappointed if I am not quite as good at it as you would wish.”
Trevor was silent as he took in her words and fumed over the impossibility of throttling a dead man. He would never have guessed that a woman of Isabella’s confidence and beauty could feel so utterly vulnerable about her ability to please a man in bed. Her very presence there would be enough to satisfy many. However, he admitted to himself that he would like very much to see all of that self-possession dissolve under the application of relentless pleasure.
Even so, he could disabuse her of one notion at least. “There is no possible way that I could ever be disappointed in you, Isabella,” he said, making sure to look her squarely in the eye. Her gaze was worried but steady. “No possible way,” he repeated. “You are a lovely, passionate woman. And I expect nothing more tonight than for you to be honest with me. If you dislike something, tell me. If you like something, tell me that as well. But don’t ever think that I come to our bed with expectations of you. This isn’t a schoolroom test that you can pass or fail.”
He was frustrated to see that there was still doubt in her eyes, but he could hardly expect for her to simply slough off the years with that bastard she’d been married to in the space of an hour. He would simply have to work at winning her trust.
“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice sharp with frustration—not at her but at the situation. “Isabella?”
She nodded. “I suppose,” she said her lips pursed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That surprised a laugh from him. Pulling her closer to him, he kissed her, willing her to relax against him, even as his own heartbeat accelerated. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pressed into her softness. Nibbling at her lower lip, he was pleased when she opened her mouth and let him in, welcoming his tongue into the heat of her mouth. Once, twice, he stroked into her, sliding his hands down to grasp her bottom, pulling her against his erection.