Lady in Red (34 page)

She nodded, then turned and walked with unseeing eyes to the front window. “I—I suppose there is nothing I can say.” She rested her temple against the window trim and watched the tilburies and carts wobble by. “Saturday it will be, then.”

Marcus wanted nothing more than to cross the room and take her in his arms, but he dared not. What flared between them was hot and unruly and had already overcome his good sense more times than he’d liked. He would not succumb again. Not until he had the right to make her fully his own, to possess her in the way he burned to. Perhaps that would return his usual strength of comportment.

Grinding his teeth, he bowed abruptly. “Good day, then. I will continue to keep you informed of events.”

She didn’t even look his way, her gaze fixed on the street outside, her expression far away. “I know you will.”

The words were soft, drenched in loneliness. Marcus fisted his hand as some emotion he didn’t recognize broke free in his chest. The pain of seeing her there, standing by the window, looking so forlorn, was somehow more than he could stand. “Honoria?”

That woke her some, for she looked at him, her hazel gaze clear and direct. “Yes?”

“I—” Whatever he’d been about to say, the words locked in his throat and he was left with none. Floundering, he managed to blurt out in a rather abrupt voice, “I will see you soon.”

Then, feeling like the most awkward individual to walk the earth, he bowed, turned on his heel and left.

Chapter 17

Women always seem to have the most damnable ways of changing things just as you get comfortable. Take my own wife. Sweet woman, salt of the earth really. Lately what’s she do but go on a reducing, diet and expect me to join in with her. I’ve nothing against her losing a stone or two
—
she ain’t as trim as she once was. But as for me, why I’ve never been in better shape. So I’ll be demmed if I go the rest of my life eating nothing but boiled potatoes in vinegar!

Lord Albertson to his friend Sir Harry Brooks, while the two enjoyed a cigar late one evening at White’s

The day of Honoria’s marriage proceeded as if in a dream. She felt nothing—neither excitement nor dread nor concern. Nothing but a strange sense of detachment. It was as if her life was careening out of control and somewhere along the way she’d lost all sense of direction. She sat at the dressing table in her bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror, noting her empty eyes.

How had this happened? This sort of thing occurred to women who had no control over their emotions, to women who were willing to forego the trappings of respectability to gain a bridegroom at any price. This sort of thing was not supposed to happen to
her.

All night long she’d asked herself the same questions over and over, going from a state of near panic to a strangely dead calm. How had she allowed this to happen? How could she marry a man who’d never wanted to marry? A man who freely admitted this was not the route he’d have chosen?

She met her gaze in the mirror. She had no choice. None at all. It was her freedom or her sisters’ ruin. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Marcus had admitted that there were reasons they’d make a good match; why, she herself had thought of several yesterday. That didn’t make the marriage more palatable, but it did give her some hope that perhaps, with time, they could come to care for one another.

And that was what she wanted. She didn’t want to marry at all, but if she must, it would have been nice to have married for love. She sighed disconsolately. There was a very strong physical bond between them that was impossible to deny. Perhaps that was something, for it was certainly powerful, so powerful that it had led to their demise.

And this was a demise of a sort… the demise of her life as she knew it. In a scant thirty minutes she would no longer be a Baker-Sneed. No longer be unwed. No longer be free to decide what she wanted to do with her life.

No longer anything that she was familiar with.

What she would be was the wife of one of the most powerful, wealthy men in the country. A man who was so distraught with the circumstances of their union that he had not spent more than twenty minutes in her company since they’d announced their engagement.

The thought should have depressed her. And in some abstract way, it did. But overall she felt nothing. Nothing at all. She met her gaze in the mirror and pressed a hand to her cheek. She could feel her fingers against her skin, so she wasn’t completely numb. Just her heart.

The door opened and Cassandra appeared carrying a small bouquet of flowers. Her gaze met Honoria’s in the mirror, and for a second Cassandra hesitated.

Honoria forced a smile to her lips. “There you are. Is everyone here?”

By “everyone” she meant the marquis, and Cassandra knew it. “He arrived ten minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you come for me?”

Cassandra lifted her chin. “Because he was not to arrive until ten. He has already won you by foul means, and I refuse to let you go one second earlier than I must.”

Honoria had to smile a little at Cassandra’s uncharacteristically stubborn tone. “There is no reason to look so dour. I am certain the marquis did not plan these horrid circumstances. He had no wish to marry-any more than I.”

Cassandra eyed her with an anxious air. “No? Are you certain of that?”

“I am positive; he told me so.”

“Oh Honoria!”

“No, no. It’s not a horrid thing. It’s actually a little reassuring.”

Tears filled Cassandra’s eyes. She impulsively grasped one of Honoria’s hands. “There are times I cannot like the marquis. He seems so coldhearted, so thoughtless. He only came to see you once this week, and when he left you’d have thought the hounds of hell were on his heels. His carriage practically ran up on the curb as he—” Cassandra shook her head. “I wish you’d reconsider this.”

“And ruin your chances of ever contracting an eligible marriage? I could not do that. Not for a thousand pounds.”

“This is all the marquis’s fault! Why he must try and kiss you while riding a spirited horse—”

“Cassandra, it was an accident.”

“Hardly. He is a man, and far more experienced in the ways of the world than you. He took advantage of your innocence and—”

“No.” Honoria turned to her sister. “I cannot allow you to put the blame for all of this on the marquis’s head. It’s true that he did try to kiss me, but… to be honest, I rather wanted him to.”

Cassandra paused. “You wanted him to?”

Honoria’s gaze fell on the flowers. They were beautiful, a collection of pinks and purples. She reached out and ran a finger over the velvet surface of a petal. “I am not a green girl, to be taken in by a rakehell. I knew what I was doing, but I could not seem to stay away from him. Every time he kissed me, I felt so—” Heat touched her cheeks and she dropped her hand from the bouquet. “I don’t suppose you need to know that.”

Cassandra sank into the chair beside Honoria’s, concern darkening her violet eyes. “Honoria, is it possible that you care about the marquis?”

Care about him? It was possible—after all, she’d certainly spent a good amount of time in his company in her efforts to come to an agreement on the ring. She absently rubbed the talisman ring, fingering the warm metal band. “I care for him, of course I do. And I certainly hold him in esteem. He’s stubborn beyond reason, but his heart is good.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because of what he does for his family and his brothers. His face, when he talks of them…” A smile touched her lips. “He is proud of them, though I’m not certain he realizes how much.”

Cassandra looked as if she might say something more, but a rapid knock sounded on the door. It opened and Portia rushed in. “The vicar is here and we’re ready to go— Oh Honoria! You look lovely!”

Honoria picked up the bouquet and stood. She was wearing her best gown. Of soft white with a pink underskirt trimmed with rosettes, it hung in graceful folds to the floor. “Thank you, Portia. I believe I’m ready now.”

Cassandra reached over and took her hand. “Honoria… are you certain?”

No. But what else could she do? If she took a stand against society, she would be ousted, which was fine with her. But to sacrifice the potential future of her sisters… she simply could not do it. She’d made the mistake of forgetting the propriety society demanded, and she alone would pay the price. She and Marcus.

It was difficult to accept that this was it—that there was no turning back. But there wasn’t.

Still, it would have been nice if, during this week of preparations and plans, the marquis had come to and told her— What? What was it she wanted to hear? Perhaps it would have been enough just to know that he was thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him, which was ludicrous of course because he didn’t love her the way she loved him.

Ye gods. She didn’t just care for Marcus, she
loved
him. The truth hit her with such clarity that she had to reach out and hold onto the back of a chair to keep her knees from failing her.

Cassandra gripped her elbow. “Honoria! Are you well?”

“Yes,” she said, using all of her strength to collect herself. “Yes, of course. I just…” She’d just realized she was in love with the man who was marrying her simply to fulfill his duty. What a horrid coil. No matter what, he would see her as a duty he’d fulfilled, while she saw him as… She closed her eyes.

How could she face him, knowing that she’d already allowed herself to care far, far more than she should? Whatever she did, she would not give up her pride. Lifting her chin, she gathered herself and turned to the door, pasting a smile on her face. “Shall we go? I don’t want to keep the marquis waiting.”

Cassandra and Portia exchanged a look.

Portia shook her head. “Honoria, if you don’t wish—”

“Don’t be silly,” she said somewhat desperately. “The marquis is wealthy and titled. Why wouldn’t I want to marry him?” Her head held high, her heart frozen in fear, she swept past Cassandra and Portia and stepped into the corridor, almost running into Marcus.

He glared down at her, the light from the doorway slanting over his face, highlighting the hard slash of his mouth, the unsmiling look in his eye.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Good God, had he heard her sounding so trite and foolish? She’d only meant to allay her sisters’s concerns and no more. “M-Marcus, I—”

“Are you ready?” His voice, cold and impersonal, flickered across her like a whip.

Honoria nodded.

“Good. I will wait for you at the vestibule.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

There were only a few guests at the wedding—two of Marcus’s brothers and their wives and families. Anthony and Anna, Chase and Harriet, were in attendance, as well as Anthony’s five wards and Harriet’s two sisters and two brothers, all of whom had come to town for the express purpose of visiting Anstley’s Amphitheatre and seeing the famed caged lions, only to find themselves the guests of a rushed wedding. Marcus was irritated to have even these few members of his family present. He’d have much rather had the ceremony in private, and had planned to do it with the minimum of fuss. But to his chagrin, as he was coming out of the cathedral, the special license in his pocket, he’d run into his brother Chase. Though Marcus had wanted privacy, he refused to ask Chase to keep a secret, with the result that there were almost as many St. Johns and proxy St. Johns as there were Baker-Sneeds.

The ceremony went without flaw, though the blushing bride was neither blushing nor very bridelike. Oh, she looked lovely enough—very lovely, in fact. The pearl-colored gown made the exotic streak in her hair glow whiter, her skin seem creamy and warm. By all accounts he should have been a happy man… but he wasn’t. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her words in the hallway. He scowled. Damn it, what did it matter that the main reason she was marrying him, besides saving her family’s good name, was because of his wealth and title? People married for just such reasons all of the time. In fact, he, himself, had expected to marry for just such a reason.

Only… it did bother him. He slanted a look at his bride, but her expression was frozen, her gaze distant, the same exact expression she’d assumed when he’d seen her in the hallway.

The distant look began to worry him. At first he attributed it to nervousness. But when she remained coolly aloof throughout the celebration luncheon following the ceremony, his concern grew.

The sad truth was, despite her words to the contrary, she hadn’t wished to marry him any more than he’d wished to marry her. But hell,
he
had managed to reconcile himself to the situation. In fact, he’d even found himself humming as he dressed this morning, which had completely surprised him. It wasn’t as if he was marrying an ogre or an unattractive woman or one lacking in sense or interest—he could think of a dozen women who’d have bored him before the end of the ceremony. But not Honoria.

There, he thought. He’d admitted the positive aspects of such a union and warmed to them all, in more ways than one. Why the hell hadn’t she, dammit?

The worst part of it all was that his blood burned for her, and this last week had only made things worse. Every day, every night, he thought of her, dreamed of her with an intensity that left him restless and yearning. The realization that soon she’d be gracing his bed dulled any irritation being married could cause.