Once Upon A Wedding Night (36 page)

"In fact, I can."

She faced him, one brow lifted in haughty regard. "Can what?"

"Force you to marry me," he clarified.

The chilly, denigrating smile she bestowed upon him grated. "You forget, my father was a vicar. I know full well a clergyman cannot marry a couple without their mutual consent. You cannot
make
me do anything."

"The right amount of coin should convince some less than ethical priest to ignore your protests." He watched smugly as her superior smile slipped, adding, "It is really a simple matter. Especially in Gretna Green where blacksmiths perform nuptial rites."

"You wouldn't dare."

"If you fail to see reason, yes, I will." At her bleak expression, he explained carefully, "I won't be responsible for your social ostracism. And that is exactly what you face if I don't marry you. I know you think you can cope, but that's only because you don't know. You can't imagine the loss of your good name. It will touch every facet of your life. I won't let it happen to you."

Some of the fire slipped from her gaze and he sensed her temper waning as she searched his face, asking softly, "Your mother?"

After a pause he nodded, unwilling to elaborate further.

She sighed and looked out the window again. A moment later she relented with a small jerk of her head. It was all the agreement he needed.

***

A misty Scottish dusk lingered on the air as their coach rolled into Gretna Green, the first village on the Scottish side of the border, thereby making it the most natural destination for English couples requiring a hasty wedding. The village was notorious for rushed and often dubious nuptial ceremonies that took place in public meeting rooms and inns seconds before outraged papas stormed onto the scene.

Their coach stopped at a five-road junction where several such inns littered the quiet crossroad. Meredith waited while Nick exchanged words with the driver before escorting her across the road to a blacksmith's. She lifted her gown, careful not to soil the hem as they stopped beneath a large jutting portico extending from the barnlike building.

The clanging of metal to anvil reverberated from within the barn's shadowy interior. She looked to Nick expectantly, wondering if something was wrong with the horses that required the services of a blacksmith.

He ignored her and called out loud enough to be heard over the racket. "Robert Elliot?" The noise stopped. A tall, dour-faced man in a leather blacksmith apron appeared, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Yes. How can I be of help?" The man took in the finery of their clothes. "You'll be needing the services of a priest, sir?"

"Yes," Nick answered.

"How soon?" Robert Elliot jerked his thumb behind him. "I'd like to finish forging a couple shoes, but if you've an angry da on your heels, I can ferret up two witnesses and we'll wed you in the blink."

She gasped, glaring at Nick with the indignation that only a vicar's daughter could feel. "In a blacksmith shop? With a blacksmith officiating? You weren't jesting?"

Robert Elliot grinned as he used his leather apron to wipe the grime from his hands. "I do it all the time, miss. Married thousands right proper and legal."

"Well, do not rush to add me to that impressive number, Mr. Elliot." She spun around to leave, her earlier anger not so forgotten that it couldn't be revived at this indignity. Nick halted her with a firm hold on her arm.

He addressed the blacksmith. "We're in no rush. Can you meet us at your convenience?"

"Aye. Just give me an hour to finish up here. The Heart's Cross be the best inn," the blacksmith advised, pointing to one of the coaching inns.

"Thank you," Nick said before pulling her toward it.

Her feet flew to keep pace with his longer strides. "Did you not hear me? I will not be wed by a blacksmith. I don't know what you can be thinking." Nick continued to ignore her, the only indication he had even heard the slight twitching of his lips. "Did you take leave of your hearing along with your senses?" she demanded.

He skirted the ruts in the road left by carriage wheels, clasping her close when she stumbled, still not answering her as they entered the inn. Greeting the innkeeper, he arranged for a room to be prepared for the night. "Is there someplace we may conduct our nuptials away from the rest of your patrons?"

"Of course, my lord. I can set the back parlor aside for your privacy." The red-cheeked innkeeper bobbed his head obligingly.

"Mr. Elliot should be joining us within the hour, if you would be so good as to escort him to the parlor."

"Yes, of course."

"Is he really a priest?" Meredith interjected, voice thick with doubt.

The innkeeper's eyes widened. "Robert? Oh yes, miss. Have you never heard of an anvil priest before?"

She shook her head, wondering if she had entered another world when they crossed the border into Scotland. Next she would learn that elves prepared their food in the kitchen.

"Would you like to wait in the parlor until Robert arrives?" the innkeeper asked. "I can have the missus bring you and your young lady refreshments."

"That would be fine, thank you," Nick replied, ushering her along as they were led into a shabby yet comfortable parlor.

Her lips thinned in silence while they waited for refreshments. A mantel clock ticked in the still air as she struggled with the notion that a blacksmith would bind her in holy matrimony to the man sitting across from her. The innkeeper's wife rolled in a tea service loaded with all kinds of appetizing fare, and departed quickly when her lively chatter could not lure Meredith into conversation. Meredith nibbled a dry biscuit. Nick appeared content with her self-imposed silence and picked up a newspaper to read, as if it were any other day and not minutes until they were bound for life.

Unable to stand it anymore, she exclaimed, "You really mean for us to be wed by a blacksmith?"

He lowered his paper with a beleaguered sigh. "I assure you that this marriage will be real in every sense. Our wedding may not meet the standards of a vicar's daughter, or compare to the grandness of a wedding at St. Paul's, but our marriage will be no less legitimate in the eyes of God and the law."

"God?" She tilted her head, voice ringing as she demanded, "Since when do you recognize God's law?"

His lips flattened into a line of displeasure. "I

don't, but you do. That British law will recognize our union is sufficient enough for me."

She found herself asking the question that had been burning in her mind since she accepted their marrying. "And after we're married? What then?"

He looked back to his paper and answered carelessly, "I have not given much consideration beyond today."

Not good enough. She wanted to know. She had to know. Never again could she tolerate the ground being ripped out from under her. This time around she would arm herself with knowledge rather than risk disappointment later. Matters needed to be discussed and settled before the final vows were uttered. Before tonight.

Leaning back in her chair, she regarded him through narrowed eyes. "I would prefer to return to Oak Run. You, I assume, wish to remain in London where your business keeps you."

He dropped his paper again, but this time his voice was anything but careless. "Let me inform you exactly what kind of marriage awaits us."

She straightened in her chair.

"Have no misapprehensions about love," Nick began, his voice reminiscent of her father's when he had orated from the pulpit. "Love is not part of the arrangement. My parents' marriage began as a love match and ended with misery. Hear me now—I won't ever love you. Sorry if I offend you, but I shall be blunt to avoid potential confusion."

It was a long moment before Meredith recovered her voice enough to lie through her teeth. "And I won't love you."

As if she hadn't spoken, he continued, "I will endeavor to forget your penchant for dishonesty and treat you with respect. Mutual respect is better than what most marriages possess. I'll lead my own life. You may lead yours. But I see no reason why we can't share each other's bed on occasion." He paused to let his eyes rake her. "We found it pleasurable the last time."

"You arrogant—" She struggled for a word foul enough. "Peacock!"

He made a clucking noise. "Meredith, I don't believe I have ever heard such language from you. I would think you pleased. You're getting more out of this union than the last time. At least now you have the benefit of a man in your bed."

That barb hurt more than she would ever let on. And it shocked her too. She didn't think him callous enough to fling Edmund's rejection in her face. "It would be a benefit if the man was anyone other than you."

"Still have that nasty lying habit, I see. Would you care for me to prove our attraction?" He pushed himself up.

She held up a hand to ward him off, grasping desperately for words to distract him. "Why must we be intimate? You said we are not to love—"

"Don't be like so many tiresome females who mistake intimacy for love. Sex is not love." He grinned in a mocking manner, flashing her his wolf's smile. "It's purely a physical need, and one that annoyingly surfaces whenever you're around. I don't quite understand it myself."

His eyes bored into her with the relentlessness of a hammer. "I am sure this desire will grow cold with time. It always does. But for now sex is a stipulation I insist upon."

She shook her head. "No. Edmund did not require that from me and—"

"To hell with Edmund." His grin vanished. "How can you compare me to him? My needs are quite different from his, as you very well know. Or did our night together not convince you of that?"

She felt her brow knit with confusion. What was he talking about?

After a moment his irritated expression altered to one of speculation. "Meredith…" He dragged out her name slowly.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

He studied her as if he had never seen her before. He leaned forward to examine her face closely, as though he might see the truth etched there. "You do know why Edmund never laid a hand on you, don't you?"

She flinched. "Of course. He explained it quite clearly to me on our wedding night," She tried for a tone of indifference, but couldn't hide the pain in her voice, belying her pretense. Nick didn't need to know about the hurt she buried inside. He knew too much already. She preferred to keep her shame to herself.

"I don't think you do," he murmured in awed tones.

"Yes, I do," she said, her hands clenched at her sides. Blast him. Did she have to spell it out? "Do I need to say it? Fine. He had no interest in me. On that point he was quite clear. He found me undesirable." She giggled. A shrill, humorless laugh rife with pain.

"Meredith, your self-image cannot be that skewed." He watched her in blinking silence for several moments. "Is that what you thought all these years? That Edmund didn't want you because he found you lacking?"

She scowled and crossed her arms. "I'm so pleased my shame is a topic of interest to you."

"Shame?" His eyes scoured her face. "Dear girl, Edmund did not desire you because he
could
not. No hot-blooded man with healthy appetites would leave their marriage to you unconsummated." His meaningful look was not lost on her. At the bewildered shake of her head, he clearly decided blunt-ness was in order. "He could not desire you because he preferred men."

Her arms dropped limply to her sides. Myriad thoughts raced through her mind, the governing one being disbelief. "That is preposterous. I have never heard such a thing. It cannot be—"

"My sweet, naive girl, it is true. Trust me."

She splayed a hand to her bosom. "Then it was not me Edmund found objectionable?"

He smiled wryly. "It would have been the female population as a whole that my brother found undesirable."

"All these years I thought it me." She pressed her fingertips to her lips and averted her face to shield the springing of hot tears.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She shook her head vehemently, pitching forward to bury her face in her hands, too embarrassed and overcome by his revelation to face him. She was unaware he had moved until he grasped her by the shoulders. "You've suffered enough. Needlessly. No more. You are desirable. I only have to look at you to want you." His voice grew husky. "Hell, we've been arguing because of that very thing. I want you, Meredith. Badly. And I won't accept a name-only marriage."

He tilted her face up and ran the rough pad of his thumb over her moist cheeks. Lowering his head, his intention became clear. He meant to kiss her.

Slippery as a fish, she wiggled out of her chair and stood several feet away. "We cannot," she stammered.

"Cannot?" he echoed. His hands fell, looking strangely bereft at his sides. If she hadn't moved, she would have those hands on her right now.

"Perhaps I can't separate intimacy from love," she cried out desperately, inching behind her chair. "You don't want that, and I certainly don't either."

He paused, clearly thrown off at her confession.

"You don't want love, Meredith. Love makes people weak and vulnerable. It brings only suffering." He said this so matter of fact, she knew he believed it.

"Perhaps. But I can't say I won't fall prey to it." She took a deep breath, adding, "Or that I won't come to want it from you."

His face hardened with resolve, and that familiar steel returned to his eyes. "I'm hardly the type of man to marry a beautiful woman and not lay a hand on her. Especially after I've already had a taste. Just keep reminding yourself what a bastard I am and you'll be incapable of loving me."

She shook her head stubbornly and ignored the part about being beautiful. Now was not the time to let his words muddle her head. "You're marrying me out of some misplaced sense of responsibility," she insisted. "I don't think it ethical to share each other's bed when we have no intention of being a true spouse to each other. Just because we did it once doesn't make it right."

His hands opened and closed at his sides, and she sensed him battle the urge to shake her senseless. Her eyes dropped nervously to the worn carpet at her feet, avoiding his reproachful gaze.