Fallen Angel (27 page)

Verity wanted very much to sit down. Her legs were shaking too much to support her properly, but Lord Sherington wrapped one arm around her shoulders and by leaning heavily on his strength, she managed to leave the church without disgracing herself.

Outside the business of the world went on as usual—servants hurried by on errands, peddlers called out their wares, horses trotted by pulling every kind of carriage and wagon. It seemed almost as if nothing earth-shattering had just occurred.

“Sherington, well met!” a round little dandy accosted them.

“Ibbetson,” Lord Sherbrooke said, his arm around Verity’s shoulder beginning to lose some of its tension.

“And Miss Jolliffe, I believe.” Lord Ibbetson tipped his hat to her.

“Not any longer,” Lord Sherington corrected him. “May I present to you the Countess of Sherington?”

Verity looked at her new husband in astonishment. He was grinning broadly, all his earlier rage now completely vanished. He appeared, in fact, remarkably relaxed and at ease. He did not at all look like a man whose life had just been ruined by an intemperate marriage. If anything, he appeared to be rather pleased with himself.

“May I dare to hope,” the little man began, his own smile now stretching from ear to ear, “that I have the honor—the truly inestimable, incalculable,
invaluable
honor—of being the first to wish you happy?”

“You are indeed the first,” Lord Sherington said. “And it might interest you to know that I have not as yet gotten around to sending an announcement to the
Morning Post
.”

“By Jove, but you are a true friend,” Lord Ibbetson said, clapping Lord Sherington on the back. “And I promise my youngest daughter will remember you in her prayers from this day forth. I am forever in your debt, Sherington, and if ever I can repay the favor?” A sly look crossed his face. “I could, for example, easily ensure that your cousin will find the weather more to his liking on the Continent than in England. What say you?” Lord Sherington nodded once, his expression enigmatic, and with a deep bow, the little da
n
dy hurried away.

“Is that man a lunatic?” Mrs. Everdon asked. “Surely he should not be allowed to wander around loose with his mind so patently disordered.”

“On the contrary, he is quite awake on all suits. The odds being currently offered in the clubs are three to one that I shall not, in the end, actually marry Miss Jolliffe. Now that my Lord Ibbetson has discovered I have already done the deed, he is on to a sure thing. Being no fool, he is undoubtedly hurrying to accept all bets before others learn of our nuptials. With very little effort on his part, he stands to double, perhaps even triple his modest fortune, thereby substantially increasing the amount he will be able to give his fourth daughter as a dowry.” Mrs. Everdon accepted his explanation with a nod, and allowed her grandson to assist her into his carriage—this time in a more decorous manner than earlier.

But Verity was staggered by the information Lord Sherington had casually tossed out. The gentlemen of the
ton
had been wagering that he would marry her? But if they—then that would mean—but how could—

His hands grasped her around the waist, and he started to assist her into the carriage, but she pulled back. “Did you intend to marry me, even before my sister—before—” Verity could not repeat the unkind and unjust accusations Petronella had made.

Looking down into her eyes, Lord Sherington smiled, and there was nothing of repentance in his smile. He more nearly resembled Lucifer, the fallen angel, than the archangel after whom he was named, and Verity could not completely repress a shiver.

“I have been carrying that special license around in my pocket for weeks, my dear, and since yours is the other name inscribed upon it, it would appear that I must have intended to marry you. If there have been any doubts on that score, there were none in my mind.”

His logic appeared to be valid, but before she could formulate a reply, he began to move his hands on her waist, rubbing his thumbs against her ribs, caressing her back with his fingers. Awash in the sensations his hands were producing, Verity lost all ability to reason.

Bending over until his lips were almost touching hers, he said, “And do you know, my sweet, I have not the slightest interest in what your intentions were. We are married now, come what may, so I strongly advise you to study how best to please me.”

His eyes gleamed so wickedly, Verity felt her bones melt, and she swayed toward him—wanting him so badly she was sure she would die if she could not hold him—touch him—kiss him—

But he resisted her efforts to get closer, and instead lifted her up and deposited her in his carriage. Climbing in beside her, he flicked the reins and drove to Grosvenor Square without, apparently, giving her another thought.

She had her wish—the wish she had scarcely dared to dream. She was now married to Lord Sherington. He was her husband, she was his wife, and they were bound to each other until the cold stillness of the grave should surround them.

But it all felt strange and unbelievable, because she
still
had not the slightest idea why he had wanted this ... or if he had wanted this
...

Verity Rainsford, Lady Sherington. Even her new name sounded completely foreign to her ears and would take some getting used to.

But it was no more unfamiliar than the man sitting beside her. She had thought she knew Lord Sherington, but today’s events had proven her wrong. He was a total stranger.

And he was her husband.

Now that Miss Jolliffe was firmly bound to him by the laws of God and the laws of man, Gabriel decided he did not need to rush matters any further. He had gained himself enough time to court his wife properly—to play the part of a gentleman and wait a week or two until she learned to love him before he made any effort to consummate their marriage.

Today he had, after all, quite deliberately not given her any opportunity to refuse him, nor even time to collect her wits after he had rushed her off to the church. He felt not the slightest regret for what he had done, no matter that he knew full well he had acted disgracefully. But then he had never claimed to be a saint.

Besides, regrets were invariably futile, and he had every intention of being a good husband—patient, kind, and solicitous of his wife’s feelings. She would have no cause to complain, even if she were the complaining sort, which thankfully she was not.

Their arrival at Sherington House in Grosvenor Square was enough to set the entire household in a tizzy. “You have found Miss Jolliffe, my lord,” Exeter said, his face betraying quite unbutlerish emotion.

“The
former
Miss Jolliffe has indeed been found,” Gabriel said, untying his wife’s cloak and removing it from her shoulders. Handing it to the butler, he continued, “But as you can see from the ring that is about to fall off her finger, she is now the Countess of Sherington. We have just come from St. George’s Church.”

Servants appeared as if conjured up by magic, and the very house seemed to breathe a sigh of relief before Exeter remembered his duties and lined everyone up to welcome their new mistress.

She was going to make a superior countess, Gabriel decided, watching the former Miss Jolliffe win over his household staff. She had a regal bearing that would have done a duchess proud, while at the same time she was not the least bit high in the instep.

In a short space of time Mrs. Filbert had retreated to the nether regions to prepare a proper wedding breakfast, and Mrs. Richards had sent several of the maids up to see about preparing the countess’s bedroom, which was separated from Gabriel’s by a small sitting room.

“You will also need to prepare a bedroom for Mrs. Everdon, who is coming to live with us,” he said, and his grandmother, who had been standing quietly beside him, began to protest rather vociferously.

“There is nothing you can say,” he said flatly. “I have quite made up my mind, and I shall brook no arguments. I have no intention of letting my nearest relative starve in some little hovel in Marylebone. I shall naturally allow you to bring your serving woman with you if that is what is bothering you.”

To his amazement, his grandmother got a mulish look about her eyes. Raising her voice, she snapped back at him, “I have run my own life since my husband died, and I do not intend to start obeying some man’s orders at this late date.”

“I will not tolerate such foolishness,” he shouted, and everyone else in the entrance hall became so still, one could almost hear the dust motes in the air
bumping
against one another. “You are coming here to live, and that is that!” he bellowed, and the echo of his voice came back from somewhere far above.

“Not if you lock me in my room and feed me nothing but bread and water,” his grandmother screeched up at him, her voice almost as loud as his had been.

Before he could do just that, a hand was laid on his arm, and a soft voice beside him said, “But of course you must live here. We have already discovered that we suit, you and I, and now that I am your granddaughter-in-law, it would be unconscionable of you to abandon me to the not-so-tender mercies of your grandson. I beg of you, Mrs. Everdon, do not desert me in my hour of need. It is quite obvious that if I am left alone with this ofttimes violent gentleman, he will bully me and boss me around without the slightest qualm. You would not wish such a fate on someone you have called friend, would you?”

By the time his wife finished her speech, his grandmother was chuckling, and even Gabriel was hard put not to smile. On impulse he kissed the top of his wife’s head,

His grandmother met his glance, and for the first time he saw much of himself in her. He might have his features from his grandfather, but it was obvious some of his quick temper and stubbornness had come from this old woman. And perhaps also some of his same strength of will and determination to succeed.

“I will not even consider a room that does not receive the morning sun,” she stipulated. “And if you have nothing that suits me, I shall return to my own home whether you wish it or not.”

It was, of course, total capitulation, but his wife had the tact to pretend otherwise. In her usual calm voice, she said, “Mrs. Richards shall show us which rooms are available, and I do hope that one can be found that you will like.”

As soon as the housekeeper led the two ladies away to settle the matter of bedrooms, Gabriel dispatched three of the footmen with several of the grooms to pack up his grandmother’s possessions and transport everything, including her ancient serving woman, back to Grosvenor Square.

In a very short space of time, even if she remained obstinate, his grandmother would find herself settled under his roof. And he strongly doubted that she would be able to persuade any of his servants to go against his wishes and move her and her belongings back to her own house.

Feeling very satisfied with himself but a little uncomfortable that Miss Jolliffe—that is to say, the countess—was not by his side where she belonged, he went in search of his wife.

Verity did her best to suppress a smile. Her new grandmother-in-law was already instructing Mrs. Richards on the proper way to clean windows, and even though Mrs. Everdon had not yet agreed to stay, it was obvious to Verity that the old woman would, after a suitable interval, yield to her beloved grandson’s wishes.

Some slight sound made Verity turn, and she saw Lord Sherington standing in the doorway motioning with his hand for her to follow him.

Thinking he wished to discover if his grandmother had agreed to stay, she silently tiptoed out of the room, leaving the other two women deep in their conversation.

“I am sure we will have no trouble persuading her to live here,” she reassured him, but he appeared distracted, as if his mind were on other things. Catching her by the hand, he led her swiftly down the corridor and pulled her into a large room, shutting the door behind them.

Verity looked around and her heart gave a lurch. The bed was massive and seemed to dominate the room. Its furnishings were deep wine-colored satin, trimmed with black velvet, quite different from the light dimity ruffles she was used to.

Trying to avoid looking at the bed and all it implied, she glanced away and found herself looking instead at a red lacquered chiffonier with brass hinges and fastenings in the shape of dragons. It was exotic and in some way alarming, and Verity was both fascinated and repelled by it.

Above it on the wall hung a massive sword—a great curved blade with jewels embedded in the hilt. It was quite pagan-looking, not the least like the proper swords an Englishman carried, and she involuntarily caught her breath and jerked her eyes away.

Then she caught sight of a curious blue porcelain dog sitting on the floor by the window. He seemed to be laughing at her. Unlike the chest and the sword, she found the dog oddly comforting in a comical way.

And she needed all the reassurance she could get, because this was obviously Lord Sherington’s bedroom
...
and Lord Sherington’s bed
...
and he was her husband
...
and she had, less than an hour ago, given him the right to possess her body...