Mischief (25 page)

“Lady Lyndhurst said that you would do anything to gain the title,” Patricia blurted out.

Imogen shot her a fulminating glance. “The next time you are tempted to quote Lady Lyndhurst’s opinions, you might recall that she is the one who got us all into this tangle.”

Patricia stared at her, briefly speechless. She found her voice on another sob. “No, that is not true. She never intended this result. She wished only to help me.”

“I do not have the time to argue the matter. Lady Lyndhurst will have to wait. I have more important things to attend to at the moment.” Imogen went to the door, opened it, and called down the hall. “Mrs. Vine? Would you please come here at once?”

Patricia gazed at her, bewildered. “What are you about?”

“Do not concern yourself,” Imogen snapped, angry and disgusted. “You have caused enough trouble. I suggest you return home and try to stay out of mischief until this is finished.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Begone, Patricia. I have a great deal to accomplish before I marry your brother this afternoon.”

Patricia succumbed to another spate of tears. “If Matthias dies tomorrow morning, you will be an extremely wealthy widow. It is not fair.”

Imogen whirled around and strode back across the room. She grabbed Patricia by her elbows and yanked her to her feet. “Is that what this is all about? Are you worried about your brother only because you fear that if he is killed tomorrow morning I shall inherit his fortune and you will be left penniless?”

Patricia looked stunned. Her eyes widened. “No, that
is not what I meant. I do not want anything to happen to my brother because he is all that I have left in the world. I am terrified that he will be killed in the duel.”

“Are you?” Imogen searched her face intently. “Do you truly care about him?”

“If you are asking me if I love him the way a sister ought to love her brother, then I must admit that I do not.” Patricia twisted her hankie between her fingers. Her mouth curved bitterly. “How can I love Matthias when I know that whenever he looks at me he sees his own unhappy past?”

“I’m certain that is not true, Patricia. Perhaps, when you first arrived on his doorstep, he was taken aback, but—”

“You know perfectly well that he took me into his home only because he felt he had to honor the promise he gave Papa. How can I have a deep affection for him when I know that his goal is to marry me off as quickly as possible?”

“He is not going to force you into marriage.”

“Papa always told me that if worse came to worst, Matthias would look after me. But if he dies in a duel I shall be forced to return to my uncle’s house. And … and my dreadful cousin will be there. He will try to touch me and, oh, dear God, I cannot bear to contemplate what will happen.”

“Hmm.” Imogen absently patted Patricia’s shoulder while she tapped one toe on the carpet.

Patricia wiped her eyes. “What are we to do?”

“You will do nothing. I shall handle this. Good day, Patricia.” Imogen gave her a small push toward the door.

Patricia blotted her eyes and walked numbly out into the hall. In spite of the problems she had created, Imogen suddenly felt a twinge of sympathy for her. “Patricia?”

“Yes?” Patricia paused to glance back. She looked utterly wretched.

“When this is over, you and I shall have a very long
talk. In the meantime, do not allow your nerves to make you ill. I have trouble enough on my hands.”

Mrs. Vine trudged into view. She dried her hands on her apron and grudgingly ushered Patricia into the hall and out the front door. Then she turned reluctantly toward Imogen.

“Ye wanted me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mrs. Vine. I want you to send a message to the nearest public stable. Inform the proprietor that I wish to purchase clothing suitable for a groom. Make certain that the garments will fit a person of my size.”

Mrs. Vine gazed at Imogen as if she had gone mad. “Ye want to buy clothing for a stable lad? But we don’t have a stable. Nor any lads, come to that.”

Imogen managed a cool smile. “I plan to attend a masquerade, Mrs. Vine. I thought it would be amusing to go dressed as a stable boy.”

“Well, it’s no worse than the instructions I got from a tenant a couple o’ years back.” Mrs. Vine sounded surprisingly philosophical. “He used to send me out to fetch him ladies’ gowns. He wanted the whole works, fancy shoes, hat, wig. Everything a real lady would wear.”

Imogen was briefly intrigued. “You rented to a gentleman who went to masquerade balls dressed as a lady?”

“Oh, he didn’t go to no masquerade balls dressed up like that. He liked to wear the pretty things around here in the evenings when he entertained his gentlemen friends. Said the clothes made him feel more comfortable. He was particularly fond of plumes and fancy stockings, he was. His friends all came dressed in gowns and pretty hats too. They enjoyed themselves, they did. And me tenant always paid the rent in a timely manner.”

“Indeed.” Imogen considered that for a moment. “Each to his own, I suppose.”

“That’s what I always say. Long as I get me rent, it don’t make no difference to me how a body dresses.” Mrs. Vine shuffled off toward the kitchen.

M
atthias heard the door of the library open very quietly. He signed the last of the documents he had had his solicitor prepare earlier in the day and set it on the stack of papers in the center of his desk. “Yes, Ufton? What is it?”

“It’s me,” Imogen said softly. “Not Ufton.”

Matthias put aside the quill. He looked up and saw Imogen leaning back against the door, her hands behind her, gripping the knob. She was dressed in a chintz wrapper and a pair of soft slippers. Her hair was anchored beneath a little white cap. She looked as if she should have been in bed.

The anticipation that had been simmering within him all day suddenly came to the boil. His wife. His Anizamara. She had been his lady for almost four hours, but this was the first opportunity they had had to be alone together since the quiet ceremony. When a man was obliged to prepare for both a wedding and a duel within the same twenty-four-hour period, he found himself astonishingly busy.

Matthias smiled at her. “Go back upstairs, Imogen. I’m almost finished here. I shall join you shortly.”

She ignored him. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of one or two small matters.”

Imogen walked to the desk and glanced down at the pile of papers in front of him. “What sort of matters?”

“The usual. I wrote some instructions to my estate managers. Made a few entries in my journal. Tidied up my will. Nothing of major import.”

“Your
will
?” Fresh alarm flared in Imogen’s eyes. She clutched the lapels of her robe very tightly. “Dear heaven, Matthias, surely you do not expect to … to …”

“No. I fully expect to be home before you are even out of bed. Your concern is touching, my sweet, but entirely misplaced.”

“It is not misplaced. Matthias, you have told me often enough that you are not inclined toward dangerous or
adventurous activities. You are a man of delicate sensibilities. You know very well that your nerves are not strong.”

He grinned, feeling remarkably cheerful. “If it’s any consolation, rumor has it that Vanneck’s nerves are even weaker than my own.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That he is highly unlikely to appear at the appointed hour. He is a coward, Imogen.”

“But you cannot depend upon his cowardice.”

“I think we can.” Matthias paused. “My reputation occasionally has its uses.”

“But, Matthias, what if he knows that your reputation as Cold-blooded Colchester is based on inaccurate rumors and false gossip. What if he knows that you are not the man Society thinks you are?”

“Then I shall be obliged to trust that my own poor nerves will be strong enough to see me through this affair.”

“Damnation, my lord, this is not amusing.”

He rose to his feet and started around the end of the wide desk. “You are quite right. This is our wedding night. We should no doubt approach it with some degree of solemnity.”

“Matthias—”

“Enough, madam.” He lifted her into his arms. “There will be no more talk of duels. We have far more important matters to discuss.”

“What could be more important?” she demanded fiercely.

“I believe that I should like to hear again that you love me.”

Her eyes widened. “You know that I do.”

“Do you?” He carried her to the closed door.

“Of course I do. For heaven’s sake, I would never have agreed to wed you otherwise.”

He smiled slightly. “Will you kindly get the door?”

“What? Oh, very well.” She reached down to turn
the handle. “But, Matthias, we must talk. There is a great deal I wish to say to you, my lord.”

“No doubt. But I would rather hear you say it in bed.”

He carried her through the doorway and crossed the hall to the wide staircase. Guilt lanced through him as he started up the carpeted steps.

He was well aware that he had used the heated passions of the moment to coerce Imogen into marriage. She was terrified of the risk she believed he would take at dawn. The night before she had been overwrought by Vanneck’s assault. Her emotions had been in a turmoil. She would have agreed to anything he asked.
Because she loved him
.

He had ruthlessly taken advantage of the situation. She was his now. But Matthias knew that when the business of the duel was finished and life returned to normal, so would Imogen’s emotions.

He feared she would not thank him then for having manipulated her into this marriage. He remembered what he had said to her in the museum.
Passion and Zamar
.

It would be enough, he vowed. It had to be enough.

Matthias held himself back until she was clinging to him, beseeching him, demanding that he fulfill the promises he had made with his hands and his questing mouth. He lay cradled between her sweetly rounded legs and kissed the inside of Imogen’s quivering thighs. He was dazzled by the rich scent of her desire. The heat of her damp passage scalded his fingers.

If things went terribly wrong at dawn, he wanted Imogen to remember this night for the rest of her life.

“Matthias. No.
Yes
. Dear heaven, you should not, you must not. This is surely another one of your secret Zamarian lovemaking techniques. I cannot bear it.”

Her breathless words and soft gasps constituted the most erotic song Matthias had heard. He could not get enough of the ravishing music. He strung kisses along her inner thigh to the plump petals that guarded her secrets. He parted her gently and bent his head to take the firm little bud between his lips.

“Dear heaven, Matthias.” Imogen clenched her fingers
in his hair and arched herself. “Please.
Please
. Yes.” She shuddered and cried out.

Matthias heard the blood roar in his veins. He raised his head to watch Imogen’s face as she claimed her satisfaction in his arms.

Things would not go wrong at dawn, he vowed silently as he eased himself up along the length of her body. He had to return to Imogen. Nothing else, not even the treasures of ancient Zamar, was as important to him.

She was twisting so beneath him that he had to steady her hips with a hand that glistened with her own dew. He held Imogen still and pushed himself gently past the tight muscles that guarded the hot passage. She closed around him. The last of his self-mastery disintegrated.

“Tell me again that you love me,” he whispered hoarsely as he sank himself into her.

“I love you. I love you.” She clung to him in the darkness.

Lost in her sensual warmth, Matthias allowed himself the joy of swimming in a sunlit sea.

He plunged deeper into Imogen’s welcoming body. Her tiny convulsions had not yet ceased.

In the end, the shudders that racked him left him precariously balanced on the fine line between pain and euphoria. They stole his breath and left him damp, weary, and replete.

And alive.

Once more he had eluded the clutches of the shadowy phantoms of his past.

M
atthias waited until Imogen finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep before he eased himself from the warmth of the bed. The first spectral light of a fog-shrouded dawn crouched at the window. The ghostly illumination revealed Imogen curled beneath the quilt. Her hair cascaded across the pillow. The little white cap had fallen to the floor sometime during the night. Her long,
dark lashes rested feather-light along her high cheekbones.

The wonder of Imogen struck him again with fresh impact. She might very well be pregnant with his babe.

Another wave of powerful emotion washed through him. This time it was a fierce sense of protectiveness. He stood looking down at Imogen for a moment, stoking the new fires that burned within him with memories of the night and dreams of the future.

It occurred to him that since he had met Imogen he had begun to think more and more of the future rather than of the past.

Matthias reluctantly turned away from the bed and walked into the dressing room. He smiled slightly to himself as he recalled the endless arguments, pleas, and threats he had endured during the night. It was certainly gratifying to know that Imogen did not want him to risk his neck, not even for the prospect of securing the vengeance she had sought for so long.