How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride (2 page)

She managed a jerky nod.

“So am I,” he whispered.

She stared at him in astonishment. “Truly?”

“Truly. This is a big step for both of us. I realize we don’t know each other very well. If you’d like a long engagement—”

“No. Waiting will just make things worse.”

He quirked a dark brow. “How so?”

Taking a step back, she spread her hands. “It will just give me more time to dread—”

She broke off at the injured look on his face. “Forgive me, but surely you understand this marriage was never my preference.”

He turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I know, but I hoped you had become resigned to it.”

“I have. At least I have tried to be,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Perhaps it would be best just to plunge ahead. Once the banns have been read thrice, we can wed almost immediately.”

He turned back, a frown still marring his forehead. “Will that give your mother enough time to plan?”

She shrugged. “All I need is a new gown.”

“But won’t society think it odd we married in such haste?”

She looked him in the eye. “Let me make one thing clear. I do not give a fig for what society thinks. If you supposed you were marrying a social butterfly, let me banish that notion right now.”

He smiled at her. “Harry said you were sensible, but this surprises me. I’m happy to agree to a short engagement.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “The sooner I can make you mine, the better.”

Her heart pounded and her breath caught as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers for but a second before backing away. She drew in a deep breath. Her first real kiss and it had been over almost before it was begun. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Shall we go inside and discuss the wedding plans with your parents?”

“Not yet. There is something else I’d like to say.” It was now or never.

“Yes, my dear, what is it?”

She licked her lips then plunged ahead. “I know how things work in arranged marriages. I won’t expect fidelity from you.”

His shocked expression surprised her. “Is that what you think, Lydia? That I’m marrying you with the intention of cheating on you?”

“Perhaps not now,” she said. “But in a few years… I won’t cut up a fuss if you decide to take a mistress. As long as you are discreet.”

“How very…sophisticated of you,” he said, his tone dry enough to parch a desert.

She took a deep breath before continuing. “And once I’ve produced the requisite heir and spare, I assume I’ll be free to seek my pleasure elsewhere.”

The thunderous look on his face startled her and she stepped back.

“You will do no such thing,” he said fiercely, reaching for her. “Our union may not be a love match now, but I fully intend to see it turns into one.”

Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his embrace, trapping her arms between them as his encircled her shoulders and waist. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her with a heady combination of passion and anger. Her resistance crumbled in the face of his onslaught. She clutched at his lapels and returned his kiss, even parting her lips when his tongue probed them. Overwhelmed by the sensations his lips provoked, she let her eyes drift shut as she clung to him.

When he let her go, he was still visibly upset. “There will be no more talk of infidelity. Have I made myself clear, Lydia?”

“Yes, Evan,” she said meekly.

“Good. Now if you will excuse me?”

At her nod, he turned and strode back into the room.

She moved to the edge of the balcony and grabbed hold of the wrought iron railing. Good lord, what had made her say such a thing? It was the truth, as she well knew from observing her parents’ arranged marriage. Perhaps things were done differently in the middle class.

In any case, she’d never expected so much ardor from her merchant prince. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a bad bargain after all.

* * *

Evan managed to contain his frustration until he arrived home.

Somehow he’d carried on polite conversation as he said his goodbyes to the Blatchfords, nodding encouragingly as his mother prattled on in the carriage about the dinner and their hosts. Uncle Frederick had given him a questioning look, but Evan just shook his head.

As soon as his mother had gone upstairs, Evan headed for the library followed by his uncle. After pouring them both snifters of brandy, Frederick handed one to him and sipped from his own glass.

Evan took a gulp of the fiery liquid, glad he had his uncle to turn to. Though only sixteen years older than he was, Uncle Frederick was the closest thing Evan had to a father.

“What’s wrong, lad?”

Heaving a sigh, Evan threw himself into a chair. “She said the most incredible thing. I still can’t believe…” Harry had said Lydia was a sensible girl, but this was carrying sensible entirely too far.

His uncle said nothing, just sat across from him and waited patiently.

Evan drained his snifter and set it on a nearby table. “She said she didn’t expect fidelity in our marriage. That it was all right if I took a mistress.”

Frederick merely raised an eyebrow. “Many men do, you know.”

“Wait, it gets better. Then she went on to say she’d no intention of being faithful either. Not after she’d produced an heir and a spare. Is that the way the aristocracy thinks?”

Frederick nearly choked on a sip of brandy. “I’m afraid so, lad, some of them, but I agree it’s a bit shocking coming from a virtuous young lady. I imagine she is just reflecting what she has seen her parents and their friends do.”

“Remind me again of why I’m doing this.”

Uncle Frederick smiled. “One of us has to marry, and since I’m a confirmed bachelor, it is up to you to carry on the family name. Unfortunately, it’s rather too late to back out now.”

Evan jumped to his feet and started pacing the library. “I don’t wish to back out. But I swear to God, if another man touches her—”

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with the girl.”

Evan’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. “Bloody hell, is that possible? No, of course not. I’ve only met her twice.”

His uncle grinned. “I saw you kiss her. You can’t deny you have feelings for her.”

“Desire, passion, infatuation? Yes, of course. In fact, up until our little talk, I was more than eager for the wedding to take place. But love? Impossible.”

“It hits a man that way sometimes. Out of the blue.”

Evan sank into a chair and ran a hand down his face. “Bloody hell, I am about to marry a complete stranger. What on earth was I thinking? Is there any hope for us?”

Frederick chuckled. “You just have to make sure she falls in love with you. Woo her.”

Evan looked up. “But how? Love isn’t something we can control.”

His uncle stood, strode to his desk and removed a package from the middle drawer. “No, but sometimes we can help it along a bit. I was saving this for your wedding, but I think you might need it now.”

Handing the package to Evan, he said, “Here you go, lad, advice for the lovelorn.”

Puzzled, Evan took the package from his uncle’s hand and realized it was a book. He pulled off the paper wrapping and read the title. “What in hell is the
Kama Sutra of Vatsayana
?”

“The wisdom of the ages,” his uncle said. “An ancient Sanskrit sex manual, written thousands of years ago. I imagine our grandmother’s ancestors read it ages ago. And now it’s been translated into English, thanks to Sir Richard Burton and the Kama Shastra society.”

“How can a book written thousands of years ago help me now?” Evan asked, staring at his uncle in perplexity. “What could the ancients possibly know that modern man does not?”

“Human nature doesn’t change. Arranged marriages have been around for centuries, and for a good reason,” Frederick pointed out. “They often work as well, or better, than a love match.”

Evan snorted. “That’s rich coming from a man in love with his Indian mistress.”

His uncle laughed. “So it is. But you’ll find some ideas in there about how to woo a reluctant bride, as well as techniques to keep her satisfied once you’re wed.”

Evan stood, book in hand, and shook his uncle’s hand. “Thanks. At this point I welcome all the help I can get.”

Chapter 2, Courtship

“Women, being of tender nature, want tender beginnings.” —The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana

Lydia awoke the next morning, bleary-eyed after a restless sleep. She’d lain awake for hours, alternately ashamed of her rudeness to Evan and reliving the passion of his kiss. She touched her lips, remembering. Had his passion been real? She didn’t think something like that could be faked, but she was so ignorant of the ways of men and women. She’d never been really kissed before, certainly not so thoroughly.

Sitting up in bed, she wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her head on her knees and sighed. She owed Evan an apology. However realistic, the expectation of infidelity was no proper way to begin a marriage.

At a knock on her door, she looked up and called, “Come in.”

Tess Iverson, the young ladies’ maid, appeared carrying a bouquet of pink roses. “These just arrived for you, miss.”

Lydia jumped out of bed and accepted the bouquet, burying her nose in the fragrant blossoms.

“They’re from Mr. Channing.”

“Yes, I rather assumed they were.” Lydia found a card, opened it and eagerly read the message.

My dearest Lydia,

Please forgive my importunate behavior last night. Perhaps we can blame it on the impatience of an eager bridegroom. May I take you to dinner tonight to make up for my bad manners?

Yours, always,

Evan

P.S. The color of these roses reminded me of your sweet lips.

E.

A laugh burbled up from her throat and her cheeks warmed at the reminder of his kiss. She hadn’t expected such a romantic gesture from him. It wasn’t as if he were born a gentleman. Perhaps she needed to change her assumptions. She’d expected boorishness from him simply because of his birth, not taking into account that he’d been educated in the same schools as her brother. She’d best start thinking of her prospective bridegroom as a social equal.

Lud, was she such a snob?

She sat at her desk to pen an acceptance. The sooner they became better acquainted, the better.

* * *

Lydia was the last one down to breakfast, but her mother and sister were lingering over their tea.

“Ah, there you are,” her mother said. “I thought you were going to sleep the morning away.”

“Were you dreaming of your handsome groom?” Phoebe asked with an arch look.

“Good morning,” Lydia said. Pointedly ignoring her sister’s question, she filled a plate with eggs, ham and toast. After picking at her dinner last night, she’d awoken ravenously hungry.

She sat and applied herself to her breakfast, listening to Mother and Phoebe chatter about the latest fashions.

“Lydia, dear, have you and Evan talked about a date?” her mother asked, picking up her teacup.

Lydia put down her fork. “Yes. He’s going to speak to the vicar about having the banns read beginning this Sunday. Once ’tis done, we can wed right away.”

Her mother nearly dropped her cup, spilling tea onto the tablecloth. “Have you lost your senses? No one who is anyone will be in town in July. Besides, I can’t plan a wedding in less than a month.”

“Yes, you can. I don’t want a big affair. Just a quiet ceremony with family only. No fuss and bother, please.”

“But what will my friends think?” Phoebe wailed.

“They will think I am marrying beneath me regardless of the size of the wedding.”

When Phoebe did not deny her statement, Lydia looked at her mother. “Please spare me the humiliation of a public spectacle.” She knew she didn’t fit the proper notion of the happy bride. But how could she? Not when she’d been all but sold in marriage to a stranger.

Her mother turned to Phoebe. “I need to speak to Lydia alone, dear, if you are finished.”

“Why must I always leave the room when things start to get interesting? It is not as if I am still a child! I am almost one and twenty!” Phoebe huffed a sigh, her mouth in a pout, but rose and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

After she’d gone, her mother asked, “Are you ashamed of your groom?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, but I am ashamed our family has fallen on such hard times I must marry a social climber. Evan Channing seems like a good enough fellow, but let’s be honest. Despite him being Harry’s friend, he’s not someone you would have encouraged, did we not need his money.”

There, it was out. The unspoken truth that had hovered over every conversation for weeks now.

Her mother took her hand. “Oh, Lydia, dear, forgive us. I did not want this burden to fall upon you. But you are the eldest daughter.”

Lydia swallowed hard. “And the plain one. So it is my duty to sacrifice myself for the good of the family. And so Phoebe can marry a lord.” It was not as if Lydia had taken in the two seasons she’d had before they’d had to rent the London townhouse to make ends meet. She certainly hadn’t received any advantageous offers. Not even a disreputable one, for that matter.

A tear trickled down her mother’s cheek. “Perhaps it will not be so bad, dear. Some arranged marriages work out very well.”

“Like yours and Father’s?”

Her mother stiffened but didn’t look away. “I hope you are not judging your own chance at happiness by our example.”

“Forgive me,” Lydia said. “That was unfair. I know any problems were caused by Father’s gambling and womanizing.” And when her father had died suddenly in the arms of his mistress, there had been no covering up the truth, even from his daughters.

Her mother sighed. “You’re a woman now, Lydia, so I may speak more frankly. Some men, like your father, are incapable of fidelity. I do not think young Mr. Channing is like him. All I ask is that you give him a chance.”

“Of course,” Lydia agreed. “He deserves no less.”

Her mother squeezed her hand and let go. “Good. Now let’s plan a wedding.”