The Spanish Marriage (25 page)

Thea said nothing.

By six o’clock, when the dressing bell was rung, Thea
was plainly distracted. Lord Ocott made an appearance for dinner and tried his
best to amuse his female audience, but he had little success. Lady Ocott
frowned nervously, Bess twisted her napkin and bit her lip, Thea looked
miserable.

“Why don’t they come? Or send word. Something!”
Dinner, like the rest of the day, stretched to the screaming point, and still
there was no word.

At ten that night Bess went home, attended by Lord Ocott,
who had appeared again hoping for news. Not until after midnight did Thea,
exhausted to the point of spurious calm, give up her vigil and retire to her
room. Ellen was waiting; she undressed her, combed out her short curls, and
laced her into a pale blue satin negligee which had been Lady Ocott’s
gift to her. When the maid had left her, Thea sat, staring at the folds of the
satin under her hands, remembering that the gown had been a honeymoon gift. So
much, she thought, for that.

Where was he?

She could not sleep; even lying still was impossible. She
tried to read, laid the book down, picked it up again and flipped through the
pages, and laid it down again. She looked out her window and tried to read the
inky darkness of the garden; she wondered. She had been so certain, had wanted
so desperately for him to come tonight so that she could apologize, talk to
him, tell him everything at last, and at least have no more secrets.

So deep in her distraction was she that Thea did not hear the
first tap at her door. At the second knock her heart began a slow, strong
pounding in her breast. “Come in.”

Matlin stood in the doorway looking tired and uncertain of
his welcome. There were dark circles under his eyes and a deep, frowning crease
in his cheek. “I came to see if you were all right.”

“I’m fine.” Thea gathered the folds of her
negligee about her shyly. “Please come in.”

His look of uncertainty intensified. “I only came to
ask....”

“How I am. That’s what you said. You haven’t
told me what happened after I left.” She nodded as he came in and closed
the door behind him. “Did my cousin get to speak to Canning?”

“Your cousin,” Matlin said acidly, “spoke
to Canning, to Hammond, to Lord Chatham, to Musgrave at the Admiralty, to
Castlereagh at the War Office—to everyone, in fact, except the charwoman.
Uh, he asked me to convey his apologies to you.”

Thea laughed rustily, feeling a little giddy.
“I’ll wager he did! I never in my life met a cooler hand than my
cousin Joaquín. I wish Bess Chase joy of him! If Tony ever lets him near her,”
she added thoughtfully.

“I think it is more likely that Joaquín will find it
is Miss Chase who puts up the objections: she did not take kindly to the fact
that he had abducted you.” Matlin’s tone was wry. When she turned
to face him she was still smiling; the light from the hearth caught the soft
curves of the satin she wore and made her hair a bright glow in the darkness.
She did not look in the least like a child of fourteen.

Without thinking, Matlin blurted out, “Dammit, how old
are
you?”

“What?” Thea looked at him blankly.

It was out, and he had as well know now for good and all. “How
old are you?” he asked again, more gently.

“Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” She looked at
him curiously. “My birthday passed while we were on that wretched ship
back to England.”

Matlin had the feeling that the floor had suddenly dropped several
feet beneath him. “You were eighteen when we were married?”

Thea nodded.

He sat heavily on the end of her bed and shook his head. He
muttered to himself. “Damn those women,” were the first words Thea
could make out. “Do you know they had me believing that you were much
younger?
Much
younger?”

“How much younger?”

“My child bride!” Incredibly, he was laughing. “Thirteen,
fourteen years old. That was Mother Beatriz’s guess, and your Silvy just
kept murmuring about her
niña,
her baby.”

“Don’t say anything about Silvy,” Thea
began fiercely.

Instantly his laughter was gone. He rose and offered his
hand to her. “Thea, I am sorry. Your cousin told me that Doña de Silva
died. She was a very good woman.”

“She loved me.” Shyly, Thea took his hand. “And
I loved her. She thought I would be happy, anyway. She was where she wanted to
be, in Spain. It is funny the difference it makes; I might never have seen her
again in the course of things, but to know that I
cannot
....” She
stared into the fire.

“Thea?” Matlin said at last, very gently.
“You say Silvy thought you would be happy. Was she so far wrong? I know we’ve
made a muddle of it from the start, you and I, but do you think you could be
happy with me?”

She looked down at their linked hands. “Could you?”

Carefully, with a sense of great daring, Matlin gathered her
into his arms. “I love you; did you know? My aunt and uncle seemed to
know it before I did; even Canning was aware of it. I only realized it
yesterday. That was why I was at Ranelagh last night, to tell you.” He
looked down into her face. “Don’t look so amazed! The only thing
that kept me from admitting it before that was that I thought you were a—forgive
me, but—a child. Good God, every time I thought of the night we...in the
hut when I...well, I thought I had done something unforgiveable. I thought you had
to hate me.”

“I was afraid I had done something wrong; you were so
cold and sober I thought it had to be my fault. I was so achingly in love with
you I didn’t....”

Whatever she had been about to say was forgotten. Matlin tightened
his hold and kissed her. The tense excitement Thea had been aware of from the
moment of his knock on the door blossomed into a fire somewhere inside of her.
She slid her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with all her strength.
It was Matlin who broke away first, to stare down at her.

“Lord, how could I ever have thought you a child?”
He ran his hand over the smooth satin at her back. “I’ve been
castigating myself for taking advantage of you.”

Unsteadily Thea raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him lightly,
teasingly. “Idiot.”

“We’ve neither of us been particularly clever,
have we? So you don’t mean to leave me to myself, sweetheart? You’ll
forgive and forget?”

“Idiot,” she repeated. His mouth came down on
hers hard, his hands at her back pressed her tightly against him. For a moment
she returned the kiss avidly; her hands twined in his dark hair. Then, abruptly,
she broke away, not only from the kiss but from his arms entirely.

“Thea?” Matlin was breathing heavily. “Did
I frighten you? Dear heart, I....”

A moment before she had been flushed and smiling. Now Thea
was pale, and her mouth trembled in the corners. “It isn’t you. It’s
me. I lied to you; you may not want....” She turned her back and walked
away nervously and twisted her hands together. “I didn’t mean to
say it; it just came out of its own accord. I thought you didn’t want me.
Perhaps now you won’t anyway.”

A dozen images passed through Matlin’s head; the first
and worst was that of Joaquín, cousin or not, with his wife. It was none of her
fault; he was sure of that; he would love her whatever had happened. If I let
that Spanish bastard get away with a nick in his arm, if he laid a hand on her....
Aloud he said gently, “Nothing you can say will scare me away after all
this trial, little one. What is your dire secret?”

“Douglas, there is no child.”

For a long moment Matlin stared at her uncomprehending.
Child? What? Then it came to him. “You are not....”

Stony faced, Thea nodded. “I am not. When you said you
wanted to annul the marriage I said the first thing that came into my head, and
that was—it. I kept thinking that, if I could only keep you long enough
to find out how I had displeased you, you would forgive me; I could make it up
to you; you might love me some time.” Then, as if to deny any pathos in
her words, Thea laughed a small, awkward laugh. “Idiotic of me, wasn’t
it?”

He smiled. “Unconscionably. So there is no child?”

Thea shook her head.

Matlin reached out for her again. “That’s not to
say there could not be another time; is it?”

“What?” Thea blushed deep crimson. “No.
That’s not to say
that
at all. With a little effort I suppose
there could be a baby. Sometime.”

He had her in his arms again, her yellow curls brushing his
chin. “Think of my relief! Sweetheart, you had me believing I would have
to call your cousin out.”

“Joaquín? When he isn’t thinking of his
everlasting mission for Spain he has eyes for Bess only. I don’t think he
even likes me much. You would never do something as stupid as that? Fight a
duel over me, would you?”

Thinking of the meeting on the heath hours before, Matlin shook
his head lightly. “Of course not, but I cannot admire his taste, your
cousin. Miss Chase is a very pretty girl.” He bent his head and kissed
her lightly. “But she cannot compare to a diamond like my wife.”

“Or Lady Towles?” Thea suggested.

He held her away from him for a moment and scowled fiercely.
“I will make a pact with you: I will acquit you of your cousin if you
will acquit me of Adele Towles. I have had enough to do with that entire family
to last me well into another lifetime. My taste has improved since I met my
wife. I thought Chase had explained the whole of that mess to you.”

“He did, and Douglas, I am so ashamed of what I said
to you this morning.”

He laid a finger over her lips.. “Hush. It is all
forgotten. Everything that was misunderstood between us is all forgotten. Now,
it’s late. You will want your sleep.” He smiled into her upturned
face. “In the morning....”

“Matlin, you aren’t planning on leaving me
alone, are you?” A deep blush rose in her cheeks, but she held her
ground; she felt at once shameless and daring and quite comfortable with him:
he was as flushed as she.

“Thea,” he began. “Dear love, don’t
you think? I mean, I don’t want to—I had meant to court you a
little. I don’t want to take advantage....”

“Then you’re more honorable than I am,”
Thea said tartly. “You make me feel as if there were something wrong with
me for wanting you.”

“Perish the thought,” he said unsteadily. “You
don’t know....”

“I have some idea,” she reminded him. “Here
I am, being as forward as I know how to be, Douglas Matlin; the least you could
do is to kiss me again.”

Absently he ran one hand along her spine; the other was tangled
in her hair, and was twisting the curls. With difficulty he said, “I
still have the feeling I would be ravishing a child.”

“You forget.” Thea moved closer to him and put
her arms about his neck; she drew his face close to hers. “I’ve
been ravished before, in a hut in the Spanish hills. I liked it.”

“Did you?” When at last he raised his head
Matlin smiled a small, quirky smile. “I am a very lucky man. How could I
have failed to notice before?”

Thea smiled at him lovingly. “Just so you don’t
fail to notice it again!”

He picked her up, cradled her against his chest, and kissed
her throat, her shoulder. “Oh, I won’t fail this time,” he
breathed. “No fear of that.”

The Spanish Marriage

A Regency Romance

Madeleine Robins

Book View Café Edition
May 22, 2012
ISBN 978-1-61138-172-6

Cover Design: Amy Sterling Casil

Copyright © 1984 Madeleine Robins
First Edition: Fawcett, 1984
ISBN 0-449-20124-4

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