A Kiss to Remember (27 page)

Laura waited until her sister had crept from the room before lifting her burning eyes to Sterling’s face. “You tricked me!”

“Not a very pleasant feeling, is it?” He rose and moved to the window. He stood with his back to her, the sunlight haloing his tawny hair. “The truth just isn’t in you, is it, Laura? You’re no different from any other woman. No different from …”

“Your mother?” she offered softly. “As I see it, your father didn’t give her any more of a choice than you’re giving me.”

Sterling faced her, his mouth taut. “You’re absolutely right. You
should
have a choice. So would you like to become my wife or my mistress? As my mistress, you’d be entitled to a house, a generous allowance—more than enough to care for George and Lottie—a handsome wardrobe, jewels, and a certain amount of social status, however dubious. In exchange, I would expect you to welcome me into your bed whenever I cared to seek its pleasures. Of course, when I did take a bride, I would have to depend upon your discretion. But we’ve already proved you can keep a secret, haven’t we? The choice is yours, Laura, but I’d appreciate it if you’d decide quickly.” He swept a distasteful look around the study. “I’ve wasted enough of my time in this provincial hell as it is.”

Infuriated beyond words, Laura rose and started for the door. Her hand was on the knob when he said,
“Before you spurn my offer of marriage, you might want to remember that you could already be carrying my child.”

Laura’s breath caught in her throat. She touched a hand to her stomach, beset by a most curious sensation—part anger and part yearning.

She slowly turned to face him, shaking her head in wonderment. “You’ll go to any lengths to have your way, won’t you?”

Sterling lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “What more could you expect from a devil like me?”

Laura’s second wedding
bore no resemblance to her first.

A chill rain began to fall shortly after they reached London, making the moonless night seem even darker. Instead of a beaming Reverend Tilsbury, the ceremony was presided over by a grumpy archbishop, who had been dragged out of his bed to produce a special license at the duke’s request. She and Sterling were married in the grand drawing room of the archbishop’s palace with only Sterling’s cousin and the smirking marquess in attendance. Although Diana was forced to use her lace handkerchief to dab a tear from her eye, Laura knew it wasn’t a tear of joy, but of dismay.

There was no Lottie to hold Laura’s posy, no George to stand proud and tall at her bridegroom’s side, no Cookie to offer a hearty “Amen!” when the archbishop pronounced them man and wife.

Laura had sacrificed her pride one last time to ask Sterling if he would allow the children to accompany
her to London, but he had refused, telling her, “I can’t be looking over my shoulder all the time, waiting for someone to shove me headlong down the stairs of my own house.”

So she’d been forced to bid her family farewell in the manor’s curving drive with Sterling watching the entire scene, his handsome face revealing nothing.

Dower had stood with his hat crumpled in his hands, his craggy face set in lines of misery. “This is all my doin’, missie. I thought to put a halt to the weddin’, not see you leg-shackled to the divil for all eternity.”

Laura had touched a hand to his bruised cheekbone, still appalled that he had suffered so on her account. “It’s not your fault, Dower. I have only myself to blame.”

Cookie had been waiting to fold Laura into her arms, her flour-streaked apron smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg. “Don’t lose heart, lamb,” she had whispered. “Any man who’ll choke down a dozen dry crumpets just to spare an old woman’s feelings can’t be as wicked as they say he is.”

Laura had turned to find Lottie and George standing beside the open door of the town coach. Although Lottie’s bottom lip was quivering, she managed a tremulous smile. “Everyone knows I’m the Incomparable Beauty of the family. Who would have thought you’d be the one to snare a rich husband?”

“He’d best take good care of you,” George had said, shooting Sterling a look that was more wounded than threatening. “If he doesn’t, he’ll answer to me.”

Choking back a sob, Laura had knelt down and opened her arms to them. There simply weren’t any words. Thanks to Lady Eleanor’s generosity, the three
of them had never been separated, not even for a night. Laura had never imagined there would come a time when she couldn’t reach out to smooth one of Lottie’s curls or rub a smudge of dirt from George’s freckled nose.

They had remained locked in a fierce embrace until Laura had drawn away, forcing a brave smile through her tears.

Sterling’s expression had never changed, not when he handed her into the plush velvet squabs and not when the coach went rocking past the churchyard where his mother was buried.

“… if either of you know any reason why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you do now confess it.” The archbishop’s nasal whine jerked Laura back to the chilly drawing room.

Sterling’s warm breath stirred her hair as he leaned down and whispered, “Is there anything you’d like to share?”

Laura shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.

When the archbishop held out the prayer book in invitation, Sterling drew the signet ring off his own finger. The priest handed it back and Sterling slipped it onto Laura’s finger, his eyes no longer adoring as they’d been in the sunlit nave of St. Michael’s but shadowed by wariness. She had to fold her hand into a fist to keep the ring in place. The ruby alone must be worth a king’s ransom, but its oppressive weight made it feel like an iron shackle. Sterling didn’t know that his mother’s garnet still hung between her breasts on a cheap silver chain.

Before Laura even had time to absorb the fact that
she had just been married for the second time in two days, she was bundled back into the coach and whisked off to Devonbrooke Hall. As they ducked through the rain to get from the coach to the entranceway, Laura received only a vague impression of high arched windows and towering stone taking up an entire block of one of the more prestigious squares in the West End.

Someone had sent word that the duke and his bride were to be expected. A groom of the chambers with thinning hair and a faint hump in his back was waiting in the cavernous foyer to greet them, a flickering candelabra balanced in his gloved hand. The candles only seemed to make the gloom more pronounced. Laura could feel the chill radiating from the marble floor through the soles of her slippers.

While a footman emerged from the shadows to relieve her of her damp pelisse and bonnet, the groom intoned, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

When Laura remained silent, Diana gave her a nudge. “He’s talking to you,” she whispered.

Laura glanced behind her only to discover that Sterling had already disappeared into the vast recesses of the house, taking his dogs and the marquess with him. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “And a good evening to you, too, sir.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy before remembering that a duchess probably wasn’t supposed to curtsy to a servant.

Fortunately, the man was either too polite or too well trained to betray any reaction. “If you would be so kind as to follow me, Your Grace, I’ll show you to the duchess’s suite. The servants have spent all afternoon preparing it for your comfort.”

“How very kind of them,” she replied. “But they
really shouldn’t have gone to such a bother on my account.”

Diana sighed and whisked the candelabra from the manservant’s hands. “You may be excused, Addison. I’ll show the duchess to her suite.”

“Very well, my lady.” His bow was directed at Diana, but Laura would have sworn the twinkle in his brown eyes was for her alone.

Diana started up the broad sweeping staircase at a rapid clip, forcing Laura to trot to keep up with her. “You needn’t thank the servants for serving you. That’s what they collect their wages for. If they don’t carry out their duties in a satisfactory manner, they know they’ll be—”

“Flogged?” Laura ventured. “Drawn and quartered?”

“Dismissed,” Diana retorted, shooting a withering look over her shoulder as they marched down an endless corridor paneled in a dark and ponderous mahogany. “I’m not quite the ogress you believe me to be.”

“Nor am I the scheming fortune hunter. You heard your cousin this morning. He all but forced me to marry him.”

Diana spun around so fast Laura had to hop back a step or risk having her hair ignited. “And did he force you to bed him as well?” Diana watched a wave of color sweep over her face with visible satisfaction. “I didn’t think so. Sterling may have many flaws, but I’ve never known him to debauch a woman against her will.”

Diana swept ahead of her, leaving Laura to follow or risk being lost forever in the dizzying maze of stairs, galleries, and corridors.

The duchess’s suite, which consisted of a bedchamber,
a sitting room, and a dressing room, was also paneled in mahogany wainscoting and lavished with the same oppressive luxury as the rest of the mansion. A canopied four-poster draped in hangings of crimson velvet dominated the bedchamber. It was at least three times the size of Lady Eleanor’s graceful half-tester.

Laura glanced around, searching for a connecting door. “And where would I find the duke’s suite?”

“In the west wing.”

She hesitated for a moment. “And which wing would this be?”

“The east one.”

“Oh.” Laura had simply assumed that she and Sterling would be sharing a bedchamber. Her parents always had. She could still remember drifting off to sleep listening to the music of her mother’s soft murmur and her father’s husky laughter.

As Diana placed the candelabra on a pedestal table, reserving a candle for herself, Laura tentatively asked, “And where do you sleep?”

“The north wing.”

With that many wings, Laura was surprised the house didn’t take flight. Her face must have reflected her dismay, for Diana let out a beleaguered sigh. “I’ll talk to Sterling tomorrow morning about hiring you an abigail to sleep in your dressing room. I can loan you mine until then.” She reached over to flick a limp tendril of hair out of Laura’s eyes. “She has a flair for hair-dressing.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Laura said, drawing on the last scraps of her pride. “I’m quite accustomed to looking after myself.”

Once again, there was that disconcerting trace of
pity in Diana’s eyes. “If you’re going to be married to my cousin, perhaps that’s just as well.”

Diana drew the door shut behind her. Laura leaned against it, listening to her brisk footsteps fade away.

Sterling had expected the ghosts to pursue him to Devonbrooke Hall, but he hadn’t counted on Thane. The marquess’s persistent footsteps dogged his strides all the way down the broad marble corridor that led to the library. As a child, the library with its towering shelves and glowering plaster busts had been his only refuge. Between the musty pages of a book of Arthurian lore or a Daniel Defoe novel, he had been able to escape his uncle’s withering insults and mercurial temper, if only for a few precious hours. But apparently, there was to be no escaping his well-meaning friend.

“As much as I appreciate you standing up for me at my wedding on such short notice,” Sterling informed him, “I won’t be requiring your services for the wedding night.”

A fire crackled merrily on the hearth, courtesy of the ever-efficient Addison, no doubt. While the dogs padded over to stretch out in front of it, Thane collapsed into a plump armchair. “Are you so sure about that? It appears you handled your last wedding night with less than your usual finesse.”

Sterling’s laugh held little humor. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you, given my bride’s reaction to my proposal.”

Thane shook his head with reluctant admiration. “I never thought I’d meet a woman bold enough to refuse
your suit. And with such dramatic flair! ‘I do believe I’d rather be hanged than marry you!’ I half expected her to stamp her little foot, and add, ‘Unhand me, sirrah!’ If this marriage doesn’t work out, she has a bright future on the stage. I’ve always fancied actresses, you know.”

Sterling drew a thin cheroot from a satinwood box and lit it. He leaned against the mantel, drawing a welcome ribbon of smoke into his lungs. “I can assure you that she wasn’t acting. Her contempt for me was quite genuine.”

Thane arched one eyebrow. “More genuine than yours for her, perhaps?”

To avoid answering, Sterling blew out a flawless smoke ring. Now that his memory had returned, he couldn’t afford to forget just how well his friend knew him.

“You’ve gone and gotten yourself into a fine mess, haven’t you, Dev?” Thane said softly, the old nickname only making his words more damning.

Sterling shrugged. “You know what the scandal sheets have always said. Cross the Devil of Devon-brooke and there will be hell to pay.”

“But at what cost to yourself?”

Sterling flicked what was left of the cheroot into the fire, his anger flaring. “I really don’t think you’ve earned the right to lecture me on the cost of pride.”