Love with the Proper Husband Read online

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “Surely when you were just beginning?”

  “Just beginning?”

  “In your youth?”

  “Never.” Marcus’s voice was firm.

  “Are you sure?”

  Marcus considered the question, then shook his head. “As certain as a man can be.”

  “What about your, you know, the first time you—”

  “My uncle’s mistress?” Marcus laughed. “I daresay she might have dressed as a virgin on occasion; my uncle had notoriously unique if relatively harmless tastes, if you recall, but there any resemblance to virginity ended.”

  “You never told me she was your first.” Reggie’s eyes narrowed. “In fact, I distinctly recall you saying—”

  “Implied, Reggie. I never said anything. At any rate, I was a mere boy at the time. I can scarcely be held accountable for what I might have led you to believe. In truth, I don’t remember what I said at all.”

  “I remember,” Reggie said darkly. “I remember my feelings of jealousy as well. She was exceedingly—”

  “She was indeed.” Marcus smiled in spite of himself. “She was quite…creative.”

  “Creative.” Reggie emitted a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, the same painfully envious sound he’d made every time this particular topic had come up since their youth. Marcus wondered if Reggie would ever notice the story became more embellished with each telling. And the lady in question more creative.

  “Very well, then.” Reggie’s brow furrowed. “Let me think. There was also a housemaid…pretty, fair-haired. You remember, she worked at the manor the summer before we started off to school. Wasn’t she—”

  “As she seduced me, with skills far beyond her years, I scarcely think so.”

  “You’ll just have to do your best then, old man,” Reggie said. “It would be much easier if your Miss Townsend was experienced but I daresay you wouldn’t like that either.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” Marcus said sharply. “Unmarried women are expected to be—”

  “Everything we’re not.” Reggie grinned wryly. “Not that I would change it, but it does seem rather unfair.”

  “Perhaps, but such is the way of the world. We did not make the rules; however, we do have to abide by them. Miss Townsend, Lady Pennington, my wife has, with a few notable exceptions triggered by dramatic events in her life, followed those rules.

  “I have no doubt as to her virtue.” Marcus brushed aside the disquieting idea that perhaps he was wrong. No, if he was confident of nothing else about Gwen, he was confident of her innocence. “She thinks if we are to have two sons we shall only need to make love twice.”

  “That does sound virginal. You have your work cut out for you.”

  “Yes, well, I simply do not want her to…that is to say…” Marcus blew a long breath. “Never mind.”

  Reggie laughed. “I’m not sure I have ever seen anything quite as amusing as you at this particular moment.”

  “Your support is duly noted.”

  “Come now, Marcus, it’s a seduction, the same as any other. Perhaps a bit slower, with an eye toward gentleness, but I am certain you can do it.”

  “Your confidence is overwhelming. However, I would be most appreciative if we could simply drop the subject.”

  “Of course.” Reggie paused, and a wicked gleam flashed in his eye. “Twice you say?”

  “Enough!”

  Reggie laughed and Marcus ignored him. “As amusing as that may well be, her attitude about children concerns me.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s continually mentioning sons, heirs.”

  “You do need an heir.”

  “Yes, of course, but it strikes me as exceedingly odd that she would disregard daughters the way she has.”

  “Given her position in life, losing everything because she was female and unable to inherit, it seems logical to me that she would not be interested in daughters.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you could be right.”

  “Considering her past, perhaps she doesn’t realize that you would be amenable to daughters.” Reggie raised a brow. “Are you?”

  “Certainly but…” Marcus paused. Reggie’s assessment of Gwen’s attitude made a surprising amount of sense. Marcus was annoyed he hadn’t thought of it himself. “I may well simply avoid the subject of daughters altogether for the time being. It’s of no consequence at the moment, I suppose.”

  “I would think you have more than enough on your plate for tonight.” Reggie smirked.

  “Indeed.” Marcus barely noted his friend’s comment, his thoughts already returning to his new wife.

  Gwen’s virginal state was enough to give any man pause about the night to come. Still, it couldn’t really account for the nervous churning of his stomach. There was far more to consider than the mere bedding of a virgin. “She is quite remarkable, you know.”

  “Is she?” Reggie said mildly. “In what ways other than appearance?”

  “Oh, certainly she is pretty, but Lord knows, pretty girls are not all that difficult to find.”

  Reggie blew a disbelieving breath.

  “She took her fate in her hands when she refused to become a poor relation and live off the charity of her cousin. I grant you, fleeing the country to take a position as a governess is not the most prudent thing to do. And she obviously has a tendency toward impulsive behavior when cornered.”

  “Like a fox?”

  Marcus continued without pause. “Yet the more I am with her, the more I find her character admirable.”

  “Do you?”

  “She is strong-willed and determined—”

  “Stubborn and opinionated?”

  “—and has a great deal of courage, yet she is really rather vulnerable. I have thus far only seen mere glimpses of these assorted aspects of her nature. It is a confusing but intoxicating picture.”

  “Intoxicating?”

  “Perhaps that was the wrong word,” Marcus lied. Intoxicating was precisely the right word. “Perhaps intriguing is a better word.”

  “I find it interesting to note all these now sterling qualities were what you called flaws but a few days ago.”

  “Did I?” Marcus shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  Reggie studied him curiously. “Very sure.”

  What could Marcus have been thinking? Gwen’s qualities were as much strength as weakness and made her the complex creature she was. Oh, certainly he had no idea what was on her mind from one minute to the next, although she had revealed a few clues as to who she was and how she felt and why she saw the world as she did. Bits of a puzzle he had yet to fully make sense of. Still, even if he did not agree with her, he could not help but admire her convictions.

  “It’s past time for me to be off.” Reggie got to his feet. “While I appreciate your hospitality, I have things to do, as do you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Marcus murmured. Gwen was already upstairs, probably in her room. The room adjoining his. Was she waiting for him? Wondering what it would be like when he at last took her in his arms. In his bed. Was she nervous? Scared? Eager?

  “I must say, Marcus, you have quite shattered my few remaining illusions tonight. I never thought to see you in such a state.”

  “What state?” Marcus pulled his brows together in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

  “You. You’re not at all your normal self. You’re distracted. Preoccupied. Your thoughts are anywhere but here. You’re behaving quite as if you are in the throes of some heretofore unknown emotion.” Reggie shook his head and sighed in an overly dramatic manner. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had lost your heart to”—he tried and failed to hide a grin—“your inconvenience.”

  “Then it is good for both of us that you know better,” Marcus said firmly.

  “Do I?” Reggie studied him thoughtfully. “What I know is that you have always been far and away too cau
tious when it comes to matters of the heart. I have often wondered if it’s truly your nature or simply because you have always had, I don’t know, a choice, I suppose, when confronted with the possibility that your emotions might become involved. An escape, as it were.

  “You have no escape now. You have a wife.”

  Marcus snorted. “That’s absurd.”

  “Perhaps. It’s an observation, nothing more. Take it as you will.” Reggie shrugged, strode to the door, and pulled it open. “You told me it was my example that taught you love was to be avoided at all costs. If so, I did you a grave disservice.”

  “Reggie—”

  “However, I do have a piece of advice that may well come in handy now.”

  “You’ve never given me advice before.”

  “I’ve never found myself in the odd position of knowing more than you about any particular subject.” Reggie cast him a wry smile. “Listen well, old friend. Close your eyes, ignore that voice of sanity ringing in your head, and jump off that precipice.” He chuckled. “The fall is glorious.”

  “And the landing?”

  “Oh, the landing can kill you. But the risk is worth taking. As is anything worthwhile in this life.”

  “I may fly then?” Marcus chuckled skeptically.

  “You may indeed. Even a brief flight is magnificent. And if you’re very lucky, you may not land at all. I must say, I quite envy you at the moment.” Reggie’s gaze was abruptly serious. “Sooner or later, I have always landed.” With that, Reggie turned and stepped from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Marcus stared after his friend thoughtfully.

  Was there the least bit of truth in Reggie’s charges? Of course not. What the viscount saw as Marcus’s long-awaited foray into love was no doubt little more than his attempt to sort out the conflicting nature of the woman he had married. His alleged emotional state was nothing more than the perplexity any man would feel when trying to understand any woman. And Gwen was not just any woman: she was clearly unique. And she was his wife.

  Oh, certainly he liked her. A great deal actually. She was a mystery begging to be solved. He’d always been fond of mysteries, and she was an excellent challenge. Confusing and baffling and—abruptly he realized he was fascinated as he had never been by a woman before. Or by any mystery.

  And realized as well that seven and a half years might not be long enough.

  Chapter 9

  A man is always less charming than he thinks he is, never as irresistible as we lead him to believe, and completely captivating in his ignorance.

  Colette de Chabot

  Gwen wasn’t entirely sure what she should be doing at this point. Or what she was expected to do. Or, well, anything.

  She pulled aside the drapes covering the tall window in her bedchamber and stared into the night and the dark London streets below. All she knew for certain was that she could not recall ever having been more apprehensive, or more filled with anticipation, in her life.

  Where was Marcus anyway? Not that it mattered. He and Berkley could stay ensconced in the library for the rest of the night for all she cared. It would certainly make things easier if he did not insist on his—she swallowed hard—marital rights tonight.

  Not that she wasn’t willing to acquiesce to his wishes, of course. It was her duty and very much a part of their arrangement. At least for the next seven and a half years.

  She let the drape fall back into place and turned away from the window to study the room that was now hers. It was spacious and well appointed, in a style that was vaguely feminine but not overly so. It was warm and cozy tonight but would be bright and pretty in the light of day. She quite liked it even as she realized she could change it to suit herself. She could do just about anything she wished. She was Lady Pennington now.

  Lady Pennington.

  She shook her head in disbelief. Was it only a week ago that she’d returned to England at Mr. Whiting’s summons? Hardly seemed long enough for a life to change so completely. She was no longer destitute. She had taken on the responsibilities of her nieces, of children, for goodness’ sakes, and she was hiding them from—in truth, deceiving—her…husband. Marcus was her husband and he would be here any moment. And he would want…would expect…would demand.

  No! She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, until the panic rising within her eased and the desire to blindly flee from the room and the house and possibly the city itself abated. The very thought was ridiculous. Marcus was a reasonable, logical man. And everything she’d seen of him thus far indicated he was thoughtful and kind as well. Why, that absurd business about how long they should live as man and wife was for her benefit alone. Gwen knew full well, even in this modern age, a man could do exactly as he wished and a wife was completely at the mercy of her husband.

  Beyond that, more and more she was convinced Marcus was a good man. He had married her more for the sake of those who depended on him than for himself. He had agreed to all her demands and asked for nothing but faithfulness and loyalty in return. If she were confident of nothing else about her new husband, she was certain Marcus would never demand his rights or her favors or anything else from her she did not freely wish to give.

  Maybe, indeed, he was not just good but wonderful. He made her smile when she least expected it, and he was perpetually saying things that called for an apology. Rather charming, actually. In truth, she suspected she quite unsettled him. Much as he unsettled her.

  And when he kissed her or his hand touched hers or she met his gaze across the room, something quite remarkable happened in the pit of her stomach and warmed her cheeks and stole her breath.

  Perhaps he wasn’t coming at all? Perhaps he had decided to forgo consummating their marriage? She admitted she was wrong a moment ago when she’d thought he could stay away and she wouldn’t care. She did care. Very much so.

  Or perhaps he was waiting for her to come to him?

  She started toward the door on the far wall. The maid who had helped her change into her nightclothes had said it led to a dressing room that separated Marcus’s room from hers. The girl had also told her, with a knowing wink, that Marcus had dismissed his valet for the night.

  If he wasn’t in his room, it would do no harm to look. If he was…

  The door seemed to swell in front of her, its proportions distorted like an image in a poorly wrought mirror. It grew fat and tall and towered over her. A portal menacing and threatening and dangerous and…

  Nothing more than a figment of her overwrought imagination.

  The door was wood and brass-trimmed and just a door. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Not from Marcus. Not from herself.

  She squared her shoulders, grasped the door handle firmly, and pulled it open. Madame, but more Colette, had well prepared her for what was to come tonight. She was nervous, of course; that was to be expected. But she absolutely was not afraid. Indeed she was, well, if not eager exactly, at least intrigued.

  She stepped into the dressing room. The door to his room was ajar.

  “Marcus?” She waited a moment, then slowly pushed his door open.

  His room was bigger than hers although not substantially so. A lamp was lit on a table between two comfortable-looking chairs arranged before a fireplace, and cast a dim, comforting glow. There was an armoire on one wall and a clothespress on the opposite side of the room. The furniture was dark and heavy, and even in the faint light glowed with polishing. There was the vaguest scent of lemon oil in the air and something familiar she couldn’t quite place. All in all, it was a decidedly male room.

  At last her gaze drifted to the bed. To the place of her downfall. Her ruin.

  Nonsense. It was just a bed, as the door was just a door, and an exceedingly old bed at that. Probably more than a hundred years or so. There was nothing frightening about an old piece of furniture.

  Regardless of how many Pennington brides had been deflowered there.

  She pushed the thought firmly from he
r mind and strode to the bed. It was massive and solid in appearance, with four posters, too thick to encircle with her hands, rising upward to meet a carved wood frame. Heavy velvet hangings draped down from the canopy. The bed had a presence all its own and dominated the room as it now dominated her thoughts.

  Still, the closer she came, the less overwhelming it seemed. She trailed her fingers lightly over the silken coverlet, noting an overstuffed feather bed lay beneath it. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating. In fact, the bed now looked rather comfortable. Welcoming, even. Possibly inviting.

  It was probably some sort of trick to get past her defenses. Still, if a woman was about to lose her virginity, comfort was certainly to be wished for.

  She glanced toward the door. If Marcus was coming, surely he would be here by now. The oddest touch of indignation seized her. How could he do this to her?

  She scrambled up onto the bed with some difficulty. It was an exceptionally high bed, and she was too impatient to look for bed steps, although Marcus was tall enough that he certainly wouldn’t need them. She flung herself forward and sank into the mattress face-first.

  Gwen rolled over, sat up, and spread her lace-trimmed nightrail around her. The gown was a gift from Colette and quite the nicest thing she had owned in years. Indeed, even the dress she’d worn today was borrowed. She would have to indulge in some serious purchases now that she had the funds.

  She surveyed the room and grinned. She could quite get used to this business of being a wealthy countess. And get used to this bed as well. She lay back and stared at the canopy above. This was the most comfortable bed she’d ever lain on. Possibly the most comfortable bed in the world. The mattress enveloped her in a soft, cushiony caress. Quite delightful.

  How much more delightful would it be with Marcus by my side?

  The thought was not as startling as the realization that she really wasn’t reluctant to share Marcus’s bed, this bed, and everything that entailed. In truth, thanks to her friends, and the nature of the man she was just beginning to know, she’d started to, well, look forward to it. At least a bit.