The Unofficial Suitor (25 page)

“If I were thirty years younger, I would not hesitate to marry Richard myself,” Lady Letitia added.

And you would be welcome to him, Cassie thought rebelliously.

Lord Westhrop now spoke up. “There are rumors circulating in London this morning that your brother has fled from his creditors. Some are saying he is hiding here in town, while others are saying he is gone to the Continent. That is why my grandmother has prevailed upon me to escort you to the altar.”

Cassie felt her stomach lurch. Her brother gone? Fled the country? That would explain why his mistress had hurriedly packed her belongings this morning and left without any explanation. If only she herself had known earlier, in time to—

But she was deluding herself. Even if she had known, there was nothing she could have done—no other options she could have taken. With her step-mother gone to Paris, and her brother Digory inexplicably playing least-in-sight, even without Geoffrey around to force her, she had no choice but to marry Mr. Hawke. Abandoned by one and all—except, of course, by Annie—she had no one to fall back on, no resources of her own, no friend, except ... perhaps Mr. Hawke, and she was not at all sure he was a true friend. He had, after all, bought her from her brother.

If only ... but there was no more time for wishful dreaming. She must get her emotions under control—she really must—or the only way she would make it down the aisle would be if Lord Westhrop carried her, which would be embarrassing to say the least.

Too soon the coachman pulled the team to a halt. Cassie looked out the window of the carriage and was amazed at the size of the crowd of tradesmen and shopkeepers and passersby who had gathered to see who was marrying whom.

When Lord Westhrop handed her down, a murmur spread through the crowd, and to Cassie it seemed as if everyone were asking, how much? How much had she cost?

Taking Lord Westhrop’s proffered arm, she tried to strengthen her knees by reminding herself that she was the daughter of an earl, but what had worked in Cornwall was no longer the least bit effective in London. She had seen for herself how empty of importance a title was, as witness the pompous Lord Fauxbridge, himself a marquess.

Then Digory’s words came back to her, almost as if he were walking beside her, whispering in her ear: Your strength comes from inside you.

I am strong, she thought. Whatever befalls me, I shall be brave—I shall not give in to any weakness. No matter what people are saying about me, I shall never act the coward.

Walking up the steps to the church, Lord Westhrop commented sotto voce, “In Kentucky there are so few preachers that couples sometimes live together for months before they can be officially married, yet they are treated by their neighbors the same as if they were lawfully wed, and no stigma attaches to their union, nor even to any children born before the preacher’s arrival.”

He smiled down at her, and Cassie realized he was telling her this for no other reason than to ease her nervousness. Strangely enough, it helped a bit.

Not to be outdone, she whispered back, “In Cornwall not too many years ago, a shopkeeper took his wife to market and auctioned her off to the highest bidder, who was, if what I have heard is correct, a blacksmith.”

She heard Lord Westhrop make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Encouraged, she continued, “Moreover, it is reported that the blacksmith and his wife lived contentedly together for many years and raised a large family.”

Unfortunately, at that moment she looked down the nave of the church. Recognizing Mr. Hawke standing by the altar, his friend Mr. Tuke beside him, she could not maintain her smile. Why had she thought it amusing to relate the story of the auctioned wife? Had not women been treated so since time immemorial? Had not Geoffrey, her own brother, offered her up for bids?

The next time she saw Digory—if indeed she ever saw him again—she must remember to tell him he was right. In the end, one must find the courage within oneself. It took every ounce of resolution that she possessed to walk down the aisle, and she could only hope that no sign of her fear was visible on her face.

Annie stood at the back of the church, watching the ceremony. The words were familiar, but in all other ways this wedding bore little resemblance to her own. Instead of crowds of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, she and Jamie had only had two friends stand up with them.

“They make a handsome couple, do they not?”

The low whisper in her ear made Annie jump with surprise. Turning, she saw Digory Rendel, who was smiling with great satisfaction.

“Where have you been the last few days?” she asked crossly. “Your sister and I have been scouring London trying to find you.”

“I was helping Blackstone book passage on a ship bound for North Africa,” he replied.

She eyed him suspiciously. The earl had asked for his help? On the face of it, that was not quite believable. “And just why did Lord Blackstone wish to travel at this time? And to North Africa, of all places?”

“Actually he did not. He wished me to arrange passage for Richard Hawke and John Tuke. Unfortunately for him, Captain Rymer and I decided to alter the arrangements slightly.”

Annie was beginning to understand why Digory was smiling so broadly. “The would-be abductor became the abducted, do you mean?”

“Precisely,” the smuggler replied. “And the cream of the jest is that he paid cash for his own abduction.”

* * * *

It was over. She had said her vows, then signed her name in the marriage register, and now the man sitting beside her in the carriage owned her, body and soul. Cassie wished she could hate him for what he had done to her, but she felt too drained of energy. Surprisingly enough, despite the fact that he had betrayed their friendship, she wanted nothing more at this moment than to lean her head against his shoulder and go to sleep.

It seemed very odd—not precisely déjà vu, but more a feeling that events had come full circle—that she had come to London sitting beside this man in a stagecoach, and now she was again seated beside him, jouncing over the cobblestones in a carriage, although this vehicle was much better sprung than the coach had been. And more important, Mr. Hawke was no longer a complete stranger to her.

“Since you did not state your preferences, I have arranged for the wedding breakfast to be at Lady Letitia’s house, and I have limited the guests to only our closest friends.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. She supposed for himself he was referring to John Tuke and Lord Westhrop. But as for her friends? She had been in London for weeks and had made several acquaintances, but no one who could be called a friend, much less a close friend. Well, she could be thankful that she would not have to face dozens of staring, smirking, gossiping strangers.

“Besides the two of us, there will only be four others, in fact: John, Perry, Lady Letitia, and your brother Digory Rendel.”

Cassie stared at her husband in astonishment. “You know my brother?”

“I would not claim to know him well, but we have met. He seems a most resourceful fellow.”

An ugly suspicion began to grow in Cassie’s mind. “Did he conspire with you to—” She stopped herself before she uttered those terrible words, to help you purchase me. Her abrupt silence had not gone unnoticed, however, and she felt compelled to finish her sentence somehow. “To persuade Geoffrey to agree to this marriage?”

“No, Rendel did nothing to help me. He did, however, make it quite clear to me that if he decided I was not the proper man to be your husband, he would guarantee that I would never see you again.”

Never see her again—for a moment Cassie felt a twinge of pain, but she firmly suppressed it. They drove in silence for a few minutes while she thought about what she had just learned. Then Mr. Hawke spoke again.

“If you have no objections, my dear, I propose we invite the others to join us at Morwyle House in a sennight. It seems fitting to have them be our first guests.”

“I have no objections,” she replied. She wondered what he would say if she suggested that they not wait a week to have company. He might agree—but at the same time, he would surely guess that she was nervous at the thought of being alone with him, and she did not wish him to discover what a fearful creature she could be.

Besides, she would not be entirely alone. Annie would be with her. Until, of course, it was time to go to bed. Cassie felt her stomach churn at the thought of what this man might do to her—what unspeakable things he might demand of her...

She did not precisely know what husbands did to their wives on their wedding night, because Ellen had never been willing to discuss such things. But Cassie had overheard bits and pieces of talk, and none of what she had heard had made her eager to participate in such activities.

I must be brave, she thought. I must never let him know how much he frightens me.

As if he were reading her thoughts, he said, “I am sorry that we could not have had a longer courtship, but your brother’s attitude made it necessary to proceed with haste. It is my intention, however, to postpone consummating the marriage until we have had a chance to become better acquainted with each other. I shall therefore not demand my rights as your husband until you wish it.”

Cassie could not look at him, lest he read the disbelief that she was sure must be obvious in her face. She found it very difficult—nay, impossible—to give credence to what she was hearing. Surely he did not actually mean for her to take what he had said literally? In her experience, men were not at all inclined to postpone self-gratification. In fact, from the stories she had heard in Cornwall, the surest way for a woman to receive a beating was to deny her husband his legal access to her person.

On the other hand, assuming that Mr. Hawke did mean what he said—at this moment, anyway—how long would it be until he changed his mind and became impatient? How long before he decided to assert his rights?

If only she could somehow force him to abide by his noble intentions ...

Casting caution to the winds, she asked in as meek a tone as possible, “Do I have your word on that?”

“You have my word,” he replied without hesitation.

Now at last she looked up at him, making no effort to hide her satisfaction. “Then I thank you for giving me the decision. I can only hope for your sake, Mr. Hawke, that you are a most patient man, because nothing will ever, ever induce me to be your wife in fact as well as in name. Indeed, I fear it will not be many days before you will discover that you have made an extremely bad bargain in marrying me.”

Rather than looking discomposed, Mr. Hawke still smiled down at her. “I have learned, my dear, that no one can accurately foretell the future. If I had tried to do so a year ago—even three months ago—it would certainly never have occurred to me to predict that today I would be riding through London with you beside me. Yet here we are, husband and wife, bound together by the laws of God and the laws of men. Since that is the case, I do think it extremely appropriate that we use each other’s Christian names, do you not?”

Distractedly, she agreed, her mind preoccupied by the truth of what he had said—no one could, in fact, predict what the morrow would bring.

* * * *

There was much to be said for being married to a rich man, Cassie thought, snuggling down in the luxurious softness of her new bed. She and Mr. Hawke—that is to say, she and Richard—had been welcomed to Morwyle House by servants who were not only friendly while remaining properly deferential, but who were also models of efficiency.

By the time they had arrived early in the evening, their trunks, which had been sent ahead only that morning, were already unpacked and the clothes hung neatly in the wardrobes. The evening repast, while not elaborate, had been superbly cooked, and their bedrooms had been spotlessly clean.

The door opened, and someone entered the room. Drowsily she asked, “Did you forget something, Annie?”

A man’s voice answered, and Cassie was instantly wide awake, all her nerves on edge. Sitting up in bed, she stared across the shadowy room. “What are you doing here, Mr. Hawke?”

“I thought we had agreed that you would call me Richard,” he said calmly, beginning to untie the sash of his dressing gown.

Not wishing to discover what a naked man looked like, Cassie hurriedly shut her eyes. “What are you doing in my bedroom, Richard!” she repeated. “Does your word mean so little to you that you are breaking it less than twelve hours after you have given it?”

“I have no intention of breaking my word,” he said, and she could hear laughter in his voice. “I shall, however, take whatever steps I deem necessary for us to become better acquainted with each other. After all, I can hardly expect you to become accustomed to me if we sleep in different rooms, now can I?”

Become accustomed to him? Even though she wished him in Jericho, curiosity prompted her to peek at him. To her relief, he was wearing a very proper nightshirt.

Before she could protest further, he approached the bed and lifted the covers. As quickly as she could, she moved away. Clinging precariously to the far edge of the mattress, she tried to remonstrate with him. “I have never shared a bed with any other person, not even my sister; I am afraid I shall not be able to sleep. Perhaps it would be better if you returned to your own bedroom.”

He chuckled. “If you are troubled by insomnia, I can suggest an enjoyable activity that is purported to relieve tension and to relax one most thoroughly.”

She started to ask him to explain when suddenly she knew exactly what he was referring to. So, he was not above using trickery in order to have his way with her! Well, she was not going to ask what that activity was, nor was he going to accomplish a thing by invading her bed, which fortunately was quite large.

“I thank you for the offer, but I believe I shall be able to sleep all night, provided you stay on your own side of the bed,” she said rather crossly. If he decided to encroach on her privacy still further, she would know that he was making a mockery of his word.

But he did not protest, merely wished her good night, and not many minutes later she could tell by his breathing that he was sleeping.