A Scandalous Marriage (15 page)

But I’m my own woman, just like you are your own man. Did you not make mistakes in your life?“

“The rules of the game are different for women, Leah,” he returned hotly.

“Yes, and I imagine you change them at will, too!” It felt good to be angry. It had been so long since she’d been capable of standing up for herself.

“Great!” Devon snarled. “I’ve married a shrew.”

The name sent her sputtering. She could barely find her voice, she was so furious. “I-am-not-a-shrew,”

she ground through clenched teeth. “But if I was, I’d toast you with my tongue right now!”

For one second, her outburst was met with surprised silence, and then Devon started laughing. He roared with laughter, practically doubling up with it.

Indignation reared its ugly head inside of her. This time, she was the one who launched herself across the coach at him, her fists doubled, ready to pound sense into him.

But Devon was quicker than she was. He caught her wrists and twisted her around until she lay across his lap.

Frustrated, she jerked and tugged to break free. He held her until she saw she was not going to overcome him, that she was only adding to his amusement. “I’m furious with you,” she said. “How dare you laugh at me!”

He had the audacity to grin at her. “Mayhap this marriage might work after all,” he murmured before bending his head down and kissing her.

Leah wanted to hiss and spit like a cat. Anything to push him away, and yet, once their lips touched, it was as if she were in a different time, a different place.

Her resistance evaporated. No one kissed like Devon. Her toes curled with satisfaction as his mouth opened and he deepened the kiss. His hands released hers, the better to pull her closer. Her hands slid around his neck. His tongue stroked hers, and suddenly she was sitting up in his lap and it was hard to tell who was kissing whom.

The magic was there.

He couldn’t deny it now. She dared him to.

What was there about Devon that she had not found with any other man? What force drew her to him?

His hand covered her breast. She gasped at the sensitivity of it, breaking the kiss.

Devon pressed his lips against her neck, nibbling the skin. “I could eat you right now.”

Leah struggled for sanity. Her body protested. It was too soon. “But we can’t,” she said, breathless.

“I know.” He pulled back, his hands dropping to her waist. But she could feel his arousal pressed against her. He knew it too. Almost drolly, he said, “You will drive me to madness, you know.”

“That’s true for both of us.”

He drew a shuddering breath, his expression bleak. “What do you want, Leah? Do you want a marriage that is something other than in name only? Because if you don’t, you are in a precarious position right now.”

I want you to love me.
“I don’t know what I want. But I—” She hesitated.

“Go on.”

She searched his face. “But I don’t think I want us to be married in name only. I don’t think we can be.”

His face split into a wide smile. She hastened to add, “But I’m not certain I like the carnal side of marriage.”

The smile flattened. “The carnal side?”

She nodded.

He digested her meaning for a moment and then said, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be sitting on my lap if that is the truth.”

She slid off immediately, sliding over to the far side of the coach.

Devon crossed his arms and leaned back. “Oh, you don’t need to worry I will ravish you on the spot,”

he said dryly. “That Scottish midwife threatened if I even thought of touching you before your body had a chance to heal, she’d have my bullocks.”

“She didn’t!” Leah said, startled but not surprised by Old Edith’s blunt language.

“She did, and she had every right to do so. She didn’t know me. There are men who wouldn’t hesitate to force themselves on their wives.” He pinned Leah with his gaze. “But I’m not one of them. I can control my emotions. You tell me when the time is right.”

Leah studied her hands in her lap. If she had her way, they would never be intimate in spite of the way his kisses could drink her soul, but she sensed she couldn’t tell him that. It would be better if she kept it her secret. And when the time came for them to consummate the marriage, she would do as she’d learned to do with Draycutt—close her mind to what was happening and think of other things.

Devon noticed her silence. “Leah, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she replied, forcing a smile.

At that moment, the coach slowed and started turning. “We can’t be in London yet,” Leah said.

“We are spending the night at an inn.”

“I didn’t know we planned to stop. I thought you needed to drive straight through.”

Devon stretched and started to retie his neckcloth. “You and Ben need a good rest for the night.”

“But what of your grandfather?”

“Leah, I’m not going to jeopardize yours and the baby’s health in trying to reach him before he dies. I sent a messenger from Rusky’s. My aunt and cousin should have it by now. Besides, the weather is too miserable to drive all night.”

When he opened the door, she realized he was right. Low fog drifted along the ground. It would be dangerous to travel.

“You could ride on ahead,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not,” he said, jumping to the ground. “I wouldn’t think of letting my wife and child travel alone.”

There was a proprietarial air when he said those words. An air that thrilled a bit.

He buttoned his greatcoat while looking around the busy innyard. Coaches of all shapes and sizes were crowded together.

“I can’t drive her closer than this, my lord,” the coachman said. “Must have been some event in the area to draw a crowd like this.”

“We’re close enough,” Devon answered. He reached for the baby. “Come now, cover up,” he told Leah. “The skies could open on us at any moment.”

“Where are we?” she asked, thankful for the red cape that protected her from the damp.

“The Golden Ring.”

Leah froze. “You’re joking.” The Golden Ring was one of the most expensive and exclusive inns on the main road. “Devon, we can’t stay here.”

“Whyever not?”

“Money.” She mouthed the word, not wanting to be overheard by the coachman. One of the lessons she’d learned over the past months was exactly how precious money was.

He took her arm. “You are my responsibility now, Leah. You needn’t worry about it.”

“But you gave Mrs. Pitney your coin purse.”

“I have credit, Leah.”

“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what credit is. I know all too well. How else do you think my family lives but on credit? Credit they’ll never repay.”

“And I am not your family.” He made an impatient noise before scratching his chin, the gesture endearingly masculine. “I’ve got to shave. And I want a decent meal.”

She hung back. “But, Devon—”

“Here, hold the baby.” He plopped Ben into her arms, and before she knew what he was about, he swung her up in his arms, just as the skies opened and rain poured down.

“Cover yourself,” Devon shouted.

She pulled the hood of the cape over herself and Ben as Devon’s long legs ran toward the door. He’d left his hat in the coach, and his hair was quickly plastered to his head.

Dodging around a coach, he said, “You need to eat better. I’ve dogs that weigh more than you.”

“What a lovely compliment, Lord Huxhold. Where do you get your conversation?”

He grunted his response.

The innkeeper held the door open for them. “Lord Huxhold, what a pleasure!”

“Francis,” Devon said, acknowledging the man as he charged out of the rain and into a very busy tap room. “We need your best room and a bottle of claret.”

“Yes, of course, my lord.”

Devon was just about to set her down when a man’s voice with a definite lisp hailed him. “Huxhold!

There, see, Whelan, now we have enough people for a game.”

The lisp sounded familiar, and there was no mistaking the sudden tension in Devon’s hold or the muttered “Damn” under his breath.

Leah peeked out from under the hood of her cape and feared her heart would stop. The man speaking was Lord Carruthers, a braying noble who always put the worst possible spin on any story. A tall, thin man, he stood in front of the roaring hearth surrounded by every Corinthian and society buck in London.

They all hailed Devon by name with raised tankards, urging him to come over and join them. Leah ducked back under the hood and snuggled closer to Devon, one protective hand on her still sleeping baby’s back.

“What are you all doing here?” Devon asked with less enthusiasm than they had greeted him.

“We came for a race between Armistice and Wind Cloud that never materialized,” Lord Carruthers said. “It was all just a rumor. But what of you, Huxhold? Where have you been? No one has seen you around town in months. And what have we here?” A hand grabbed one of Leah’s exposed ankles.

His question was met by a chorus of catcalls. “Leave it to Huxhold to find a woman where there is none!” one man shouted out.

“Well, then he should share!” Carruthers shouted gleefully and began pulling on Leah’s foot.

She tried to kick him away. Her actions served only to encourage the man’s boldness until Devon’s voice cut through the shouting and nonsense. “Let go of her.”

Carruthers released his hold immediately. “I say, Huxhold, we were just having a bit of sport. No offense. ”Course I don’t see why you would mind unless,“ he paused dramatically, ”we have caught you
in scandal.“

His pronouncement was greeted with a clattering of tankards on tables and giggling laughter. Having grown up with brothers, Leah was not surprised. Men were childish.

Flush with the others’ enthusiasm, Lord Carruthers crowed, “So what is it, Huxhold? Is this another man’s wife? Sweeping her off for a secret tryst?” He waved his arms with so much force that he almost lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.

His friends hooted wildly.

Then Devon spoke. Everyone shushed to silence the better to hear him. “As a matter of fact, Carruthers, you have caught me with a wife.”

Lord Carruthers laughed with the joy of discovery. Here was gossip he could take back to London and feast on for a week. Leah knew how he thought. “So tell me, who is she?” he asked eagerly.

“My own.”

The gentlemen’s laughter and catcalls abruptly turned to gasps of astonishment. Lord Carruthers actually dropped his tankard in surprise. “You? Married?”

Devon stepped around him and carried Leah up the stairs.

Safely out of hearing, Francis the innkeeper apologized repeatedly. “They’ve been drinking since noon, my lord. I shall be fortunate if they don’t disturb all my guests.”

“I know those men, Francis. I’ve rarely seen them sober. You’d be best to drug their wine.”

“If only I could,” the innkeeper lamented.

Leah popped her head out from under the cape, practically overcome with panic. “Are they following us?”

“Not yet,” Devon replied with a calmness she was far from feeling.

“I cannot abide Lord Carruthers.” She could still feel his grip around her ankle. “Of course, I was never comfortable around his wife either. She is even more nosy.”

“But does she drink like he does?” Devon demurred.

Leah gave him a sharp glance, uncertain if he teased. But before she could say anything, Francis opened the door to a spacious bedroom. “Here we are, safe and sound.” He lit candles and hurried to personally set a fire in the hearth.

Devon put Leah down and helped her off with her cape. Ben was awake. He blinked in the sudden light.

“Poor baby.” Leah gave his serious little forehead a kiss. “Lord Carruthers should be horsewhipped—”

She paused, looking around. “Why, this room is lovely.”

“Aye, my lady,” Francis said over his shoulder. “Best room in the house. We call it the Blue Room. The Prince of Wales stays here and, of course, our favorite guests, like Lord Huxhold.”

Holding Ben with one arm, Leah ran an appreciative hand over the cherrywood table. The polish reflected the flames of the newly lit fire. She now appreciated the amount of work it took to raise a shine like this.

The canopied bed was also of cherry, with dark blue bed curtains. They matched the French print of the bedcover. Even her parents’ home wasn’t this luxurious.

The coachman knocked on the still open door. He carried Devon’s pack of personal items and Ben’s basket from the church. “Thank you, Timothy,” Devon said. “That should be all for the night.” Two maids carried in hot water and scurried out again.

Timothy hovered by the door. “I should warn you, my lord, there is a rowdy party of lads foxed beyond sense downstairs. They are planning a visit.”

“Thank you, Timothy.”

“They wouldn’t,” Leah declared, protectively holding Ben.

“They won’t,” Devon assured her. “Francis, I want a round of drinks for my friends downstairs.

Something heavy like mead or several bottles of good port.”

Francis chuckled. “Of course, my lord.”

“And how about one of your pheasant dinners for my wife and myself?”

“As you wish.”

Timothy left. As Devon stood another moment in the doorway talking in a low voice to Francis, Leah wandered over to the fire, swaying gently to keep Ben happy.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Devon suggested to her. He took his shaving kit out of the leather pack Timothy had brought and crossed to the washstand.

Leah shook her head. “It feels good to stand.” She surveyed the room again. “You have become very rich, then?”

Devon tossed his jacket onto a chair. “I am wealthy.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “I have two ships now and I am planning on purchasing a third.” He splashed water in the bowl and prepared to shave. The scent of his citrus shaving soap filled the air. “I can’t wait to get rid of this beard.”

Leah barely heard him. Three ships. Devon was very wealthy for a man who received no support from his father. If Julian had applied himself the way Devon had, her family would have no worries.

She stared at the scuffed toes of Devon’s boots. Her father and brothers were all meticulous about their boots and traded recipes for blacking. They spent hours discussing the merits of champagne versus spit.