Jilted in January (8 page)

Three hours later, Colin’s face hurt from smiling, and he was coldly sober—unlike his bride’s brother, her ex-betrothed, and his father. Even Lady Maude was giggling like a young girl as they shared a remarkably elaborate wedding feast, considering the lack of notice. Under the cover of the table, he held Miss Leyton’s hand very tightly in his, a solid reminder that she too was enmeshed in this insanity and that he was now responsible for her.

Not Miss Leyton anymore either, but “the honorable” Mrs. Colin Ford. His wife.

His father caught his gaze. “Might I have a word with you before I return to Town, Colin?”

“Of course, Father.” Colin reluctantly released his wife’s hand and stood. “We can talk in the library if you wish.”

He led the way into the imposing Beckworth library and closed the door behind his father.

“You’ve done well, lad.” The earl walked forward and let his gaze drift over the ducal treasures displayed on the shelves. “I would never have expected it of you.”

“I live to please you, sir.”

His father arched a brow. “I understand she has some money and might have more if the new duke takes a fancy to her.”

Colin leaned back against the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Having spoken to her brother, you probably know more about that than I do. I’m fairly confident you would not have agreed to the connection unless there was some financial worth in it for the family.”

“You know me well.” The earl’s smile was edged with bitterness. “It is hard to make ends meet these days.”

“Then I am glad I will not be adding to your burdens. I have always tried to make my own way. You made that very clear to me when I finished school.”

“And off you went and found
employment
like a damned cit—which has turned out very nicely for you, hasn’t it? You caught the old duke’s second cousin twice removed and gained the patronage and power of an ancient family. The only thing I don’t understand is why the Leytons were so keen to get rid of her. Is there some scandal I should know about?”

Colin’s recently discovered temper flickered to life. “No.”

“Have you got her with child? If so, I must congratulate you.”

“There is no hint of scandal attached to her name, and there never will be,” Colin snapped.

The earl held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. “I will instruct my solicitor to speak to Beckworth’s man. I believe you are owed some portion of your mother’s estate on the occasion of your marriage. I will do my best to see if I can release it to you, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He doubted his father appreciated the hint of sarcasm in his reply, but he no longer cared. If the man sold a couple of his prized hunters he would have enough to pay Colin’s measly portion. There was a lot more he wished to say, but it was neither the time nor the place for recriminations and questions. If his money didn’t materialize,
he
would set the Beckworth solicitors on his father.
Then
the spendthrift earl would see what the power of having a ducal relative could achieve.

The earl sauntered back toward the door, and Colin moved to open it.

“I have to return to London today. I believe Lieutenant Leyton and his friend also intend to leave.”

“Then I will wish you a safe journey, sir.”

Colin was fairly sure his father was right. There was no need for Leyton to hang around now when everything had been settled to his satisfaction.

Now all Colin had to do was get on with married life…

Rose turned a slow circle as Mrs. Pemberley shut one of the drawers on the tallboy.

“Mr. Ford is moving in here?”

“Lady Maude doesn’t think the land agent’s set of rooms is of sufficient quality for you both.” Mrs. Pemberley opened a drawer and deftly relocated the contents into another. “When the new duke is found, she will consult with him about offering you more private accommodation. There is a very nice house on the estate that was occupied by Mr. Morehouse’s predecessor that would suit you very well.”

“I see.”

Mrs. Pemberley came toward Rose, her expression softening. “Let me help you out of that gown. You have had a rather exciting day and must be exhausted.”

It wasn’t until after Mrs. Pemberley undressed her and helped her into her nightgown and robe that Rose remembered Mr. Ford would soon be appearing. She glanced doubtfully down at her quilted robe. In truth, she was more covered up than she’d been at the wedding, and if she got into bed… he would see nothing if she pulled the covers up to her neck.

She was drawing back the quilt before she thought about that. If she were in bed, would he assume she was ready or even eager to
consummate their marriage?

She leapt back from the bed as if she had been scalded. Great-Aunt Maude had told her to lie still and let Mr. Ford have his way. What she’d meant by that still remained a mystery. Did Mr. Ford even know his belongings had been relocated to her bedroom? Was he currently roaming the house wondering where on earth he was supposed to sleep?

The soft sound of someone clearing his throat made her jump and clutch at her throat.

“Miss Leyton?” He stood in the doorway, his expression concerned. “Did I scare you?”

“Not at all.” She beckoned him closer. “You are… most welcome.”
Was that her squeaky little voice?

He contemplated her from a safe distance. “My father and your brother and his friend have left. I persuaded them all into the carriage, where I expect they’ll sleep for the entire journey back to London.”

“Both being drunk and relieved of their familial duty toward us,” Rose said.

“Exactly.” He shoved a hand through his dark curls. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of a single way to get us out of this impossible situation without ruining us both.”

“I am just sorry your kind gesture to ensure my future happiness ended with you being married.” She took a deep breath. “You could have run away.”

“And left you at the altar?” He smiled. “No, I could not have done that to you.”

“Then
I
should’ve run.”

His smile died, and his gaze shot to her face. “If you are… unwilling to continue this relationship, I quite understand.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“If we do not… consummate the marriage, there is a small chance that the new duke might be able to—”

She held up her hand, interrupting him. “Knowing our luck, do you really think that would work?”

He winced. “Probably not.”

“Then perhaps we should make the best of it.” Rose nodded at the bed. “I’m rather cold, so I’ll get in.”

“I’ll bank up the fire.” He turned his back, giving her the opportunity to scramble into bed and scoot across to the right-hand side. Her heart was already thumping as if she’d run a race. Watching Mr. Ford attend to the fire and then blow out all the candles apart from the one beside the bed did nothing to alleviate her anticipation. In truth, watching him was strangely compelling, especially when he retreated to the furthest corner and started stripping off his clothes…

Eventually he paused, one hand on the buttons that held up his breeches, and looked her way.

“I don’t suppose you noticed where Mrs. Pemberley put my nightshirts?”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

“Then would you prefer it if I came to bed like this?”

Rose studied him carefully. “Won’t you be rather uncomfortable? Why not just keep your shirt on if you are cold.”

“If you are sure.”

“I…” Her throat dried as he stripped off his cravat and his shirtfront fell open, offering her a glimpse of pale skin and dark hair. He stepped out of his breeches, folded them carefully in the manner of someone who took care of his possessions, and placed them on the back of the nearest chair. His shirt fell almost to his knees, but she could see his bare legs.

He advanced toward the bed, pausing only to blow out the last candle before climbing in beside her. Rose held her breath, aware of her bed suddenly shrinking as her new husband stretched out beside her. His shoulder bumped hers, and she jumped.

“May I hold you?” he asked softly.

She could only nod and allow him to slip his arm around her shoulders and gather her close. For some reason, the most perfect spot for her head to rest against was his chest. She took a deep breath and inhaled a hint of brandy, leather, and cheap lye soap.

He kissed the top of her head. “It’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it? I can’t say I expected to be a respectable married man by the end of it.”

“It felt as if the whole day were a dream,” she admitted.

“You looked beautiful in that blue dress.”

“It used to belong to our absent duchess.”

He chuckled. “I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t begrudge it to you. She has always been very kind to me.”

His fingers drifted down her throat and along the curve of her collarbone.

“Aren’t you hot in that robe?”

In answer, she sat up and took it off, tossing it onto the floor. Her nightgown was made of linen and was without ornamentation, but Mr. Ford was still staring at her as if she’d disrobed completely. She shrank down into the covers, and his arm came back around her.

“Mr. Ford…”

He kissed her nose. “Do you think you might call me Colin? Only when we are alone, obviously.”

“I will do my best. You may call me Rose.”

“Thank you. It suits you very well.” His fingers traced a pattern on the back of her neck, which made her want to squirm in a rather pleasurable way. “Your mother obviously liked flower names.”

“For her daughters. I wish she’d called David
Petunia
or something like that. It might have made him less pompous.”

He shook with laughter, making her aware of his heat and strength beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Or Buttercup.”

“Or Lupin.” Unbelievably, Rose found herself smiling. “Although I suspect he would have suffered greatly at Eton if he’d been blessed with any of those names.”

“Which would’ve done him the world of good.”

A yawn shook through Rose, and she muffled it against his shoulder.

“We should go to sleep,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes. “But we haven’t—”

“We don’t have to do anything until you are ready.”

A familiar note of determination suffused his voice. He rolled onto his back, drawing her with him so that she was cuddled against his side. It was remarkably pleasant.

“Good night, Mrs. Ford.”

“Rose,” she muttered. “I’m not officially your wife until you bed me.”

“True, but I’m not the kind of man to impose myself on a tired and unwilling woman.”

“I’m not unwilling.”

“But you are tired.” He leaned in and kissed her mouth. “We have the whole of our lives to sort out the rest of it. Go to sleep.”

An hour later, Colin was wide awake and rather regretting his heroic behavior. Miss Leyton—Rose—was asleep, her body almost on top of his, her soft inner thigh nestled right against the insistent throb of his cock. He feathered a hand over her hip and buttock, molding her even closer to his hardened flesh, and wanted to groan.

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “You aren’t sleeping at all.”