The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (24 page)

Hope wafted up from the ashes. She pounded it down. "I will go back to the country tomorrow. I need to return to my hotel and pack my things."

"You're coming with me tonight, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you kicking and screaming all the way."

She spun around and stood toe to toe with Keene. "Why? You don't want me there or you should have brought me to London in the first place."

Keene's response was grim. "I have no choice now. I am your husband."

"Is that what you are? I had quite forgotten. It certainly does not feel as if I have a husband, just a change in fathers and prisons."

Keene stood stock still. Had she had pushed him too far? They stared at each other. The night whispered around them. The darkness cast shadows and made his expression impenetrable. Slowly he reached out and traced his index finger down her nose, across her lips and down her chin.

Her breath caught in her throat. A gleam in his dark eyes held her mesmerized. He slid his hand around the back of her neck. The warm touch of his fingers shredded her defiance. Her pulse pounded and her breath spilled out in a torrent.

He pushed her chin back with his thumb and leaned toward her. His lips moved over hers with a deliberateness that had her gasping and fighting her inclination to throw her arms around his neck and return his kiss with every fiber of her being.

He drew back and said softly, "Did that help you remember?"

Fury sparked the eager kindling of her emotions, then his slow smile turned her bones to powder. She didn't understand and couldn't fight his influence over her. His smile faded as he leaned close once more.

"Don't bite," he whispered. After a deliberate pause, he kissed her again.

Emotions rolled through her like a tidal wave. This was the greeting she'd yearned for, the welcome she dreamed about. Her hurt and anger faded as his kiss went on and on.

Her legs turned limp. She had no choice but to hang onto him. Her resistance turned to mush.

"Good God, man, do you mean to seduce your wife in the street?" whispered Victor.

Keene ended the kiss with gentle nibbles at her swollen lips. He pulled her head into the crook of his neck. "Is Algany still watching?"

"No, just every coachman from here to Newgate and half the crowd from the theater."

"Should not be a shocking sight to them. Where is my carriage?"

Had he kissed her just to impress upon Lord Algany that she was married? Sophie reared back from Keene. He released her.

Victor moved away, presumably to locate Keene's carriage.

Keene reached for her hand. "Come home with me, Sophie." His voice was low and urgent, no longer commanding, but compelling.

She fought to retain the independence she had discovered in the last two weeks. Hell, she struggled to regain her equilibrium when she felt like nothing more than a bundle of raw emotions. "You won't lecture me?"

He studied her a long time before he said, "Not tonight, but Algany—"

"I know. I don't ever want to be alone with him ever again." Heat flooded her cheeks. "He . . . he wasn't a gentleman."

Victor returned. "I'll get myself a hackney," he muttered.

Keene stepped back from Sophie. His gaze shifted to his friend. "You're wearing my clothes."

"I shall return them on the morrow, sir." Victor gave a polite leg.

"If they fit you less well, I should agree. But I will have their return tonight." Keene wrapped his hand around her elbow, and without sparing her another glance, led her to his carriage.

* * *

In his borrowed finery Victor waited in the library to return to the bedchamber he had used earlier to change his clothes. A servant knelt before the grate and with a rattle of fire irons and wheeze of a bellows coaxed the coals back to life.

He half feared that Keene meant to return and blow his brains out rather than let him retrieve his pale lemon pantaloons, Hessians and bottle-green day jacket. Victor hoped that if Keene meant to stain his hands with more blood he wouldn't want to ruin his own clothes in the process.

As Victor contemplated his possible pending demise, Keene stood outside the library door, his fingers wrapped around the door frame. His knuckles turned white from the tightness of his grasp. Victor swallowed hard, imagining that iron grip turned on him. Strangling would likely make less mess than shooting, and wearing Keene's clothes was no protection at all against that end.

Better him than Sophie. He couldn't quite fathom why she had thought it appropriate to attend the theater with Algany. Although she couldn't know him the way someone familiar with ton life would. Nor could he understand why, when Keene quite obviously wanted to exercise his conjugal duties, he had insisted on Victor's presence in the carriage and in his home. Would Keene find it more comfortable to execute him with the room heated to a bearable temperature?

The servant slipped out. Victor swallowed hard.

Keene entered the room, shut the door and leaned against it. "On no account let me go upstairs."

"For heaven's sake, your wife is waiting and, by my observation, willing."

Keene looked wild-eyed. "I know. She would be, of course."

Arrogant bastard.
But then, Keene had always had easy luck seducing women. His wife didn't look to be an exception. Although Victor wondered how much was luck and how much was skill. "Why insist on my attendance? I thought I was here to change into my own clothes and leave you to your duties."

"You are here to protect me from myself. I cannot let her foist her bas . . ." Keene moved to a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Bloody hell!"

Victor moved to stand beside him. "I thought she made a clean breast of it. When I asked if she had explained to you why she fainted, she said she had." Victor took a hard swallow and realized he'd just admitted he had interfered in Keene's affairs. "You said she had."

"She spun a Banbury tale. Said she fell from a horse."

"She could have. She seems an honest girl."

Keene gave him a hard look. "That's doing it much too brown. I've seen that girl take a six-foot fence. She can outride most men I know. Even if she did take a fall, how does that explain fainting and tossing her breakfast the day of our marriage?"

Victor sat down. "It wouldn't explain a belly, either."

Keene popped out of his chair and paced the length of the library. "I shouldn't have touched her. I just give her more fuel to believe she can persuade me to her bed in time to carry her charade."

"Why did you?"

Keene stopped his pacing.

"Touch her, that is."

"She meant to return to her hotel. Algany might have followed her. I . . . I . . . and I suppose because I know I can't have her."

Victor would beg to disagree. Keene could have her the minute he snapped his fingers or got over this disagreeable need for complete honesty. Some things were just better left unsaid, unheard, unthought.

Why was Keene having such a difficult time resisting the lures of his wife? Sophie was not in Keene's usual taste. Admittedly, Sophie was a pretty girl, but Victor wasn't overwhelmed by her charms.

Keene resumed his pacing, a frown marring his features.

"Why was she with Algany?"

"I don't know. When I started to warn her about him, she said she never wanted to be alone with him ever again."

A tap on the door made Keene shoot toward it. A maid handed him a bundle of blue satin. "Begging your pardon, sir. The mistress asked for something for which to sleep in."

"Stoke up the fire in my room this night. She shall have to sleep in her undergarments. Tell her we'll retrieve her trunk tomorrow."

The maid bobbed a curtsy.

"Oh, and ask her if she has eaten. If she is hungry have Cook prepare her a supper tray, and be sure she has hot chocolate and fresh rolls when she wakes in the morning."

The maid cocked her head sideways and gave a puzzled look to her master. "Hot chocolate, sir?"

"Yes, and eggs and kippers or whatever she expresses a desire for." Keene waved his hand in the direction of the stairs.

The maid bobbed a second curtsy, wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."

"Quite considerate of you," observed Victor.

"She is breeding." Keene took the bundle across the room to his desk.

Victor trailed after him.

Keene opened a locked drawer, removed the contents and stuffed the wrapper and Sophie's dress inside.

"What are you doing, man?"

"Making sure she has no clothes to wear for an escape."

"I'm not sure she had a lot on under that." Victor pointed to the evening gown on top.

"Do not remind me." Keene shoved the drawer shut, then turned the key. He pulled it from the lock and deposited it in his waistcoat pocket.

"If she doesn't want to be with Algany . . ." Victor let the question trail off.

"It's not Algany I'm worried about."

"You put her in your room?"

"None of the others are prepared. Which is why we must go out." Keene grabbed Victor's arm and steered him toward the door. "Shall we try the Cocoa Tree?"

Victor spotted a contract lying on top of the papers Keene removed from the desk. Without his really meaning to read the document, Victor's attention was drawn by a passage. The words jumped out at him as serious as if they had been written in blood. "You mean to let Sophie retain control of everything she inherits?"

Keene grimaced. "Yes."

"Her father drove a hard bargain. Does he know of your father's threat?"

"No, this was my idea." Keene stashed the contract in another drawer.

Underneath the contract was a draft for three thousand pounds. Victor studied the signature. Daniel Farthing. Why had Keene failed to cash his wife's dowry draft? Did he still entertain ideas of an annulment? For that matter, what kind of man allowed his wife total control of property she inherited? A man who intended to end his marriage before it mattered?

* * *

Amelia held the baby tight to her breast. The half light of the dawn stole in through the windows. She had crept up to the nursery to snatch a few minutes with her daughter before the household woke. After that, the orders barring her from the third floor prompted her to confine her activities to the floors below rather than requiring any servant the unpleasantness of enforcement.

Hairs along the back of her neck raised. She was being watched. She turned slowly. George stood in the doorway, his face puffy and his eyes bloodshot. For once he might actually be sober.

"I'm sorry. I should not have disobeyed you. I'll go downstairs." Amelia placed the sleeping infant back in her crib and settled the blankets around her daughter.

"How is it I am the one who was wronged, but you manage to make me feel deuced guilty."

"Because it is not in your nature to be unkind."

"There you go again."

"I am sorry. I'm weak and foolish, and I never wished to hurt you."

"And if you had it to do all over again?"

Amelia looked at the tiny girl sleeping so peacefully in the crib. The swell of love for her daughter and the urge to shield George from the worst of her own nature vied for honors. The helplessness of knowing she could not follow either path successfully tore her in a thousand ways.

She whispered, "I cannot wish for something that would take her away. I would give my soul that you were in the carriage that night. I closed my eyes and pretended you were."

"It wasn't me. It wouldn't have been me."

Yes, George was so good and honorable that he never would have let himself succumb to a passion not sanctified by church and state. In fact, it had taken some prompting before he believed her assurances that she wanted his lovemaking, and that she trusted him implicitly. She had known he would never hurt her . . . physically. She almost wished he would beat her or slap her instead of throwing knifelike words that gouged at her soul. "I know."

George growled. He stalked into the room.

Amelia splayed herself in front of the crib as if to block him, her arms extended.

He stared at her. "I cannot understand how you think I would hurt your child. You know me better than that."

"I do not know you anymore. You are not the man I thought I married."

"Nor are you the woman I thought I loved."

"So both of us were deluded."

"Then we are at point nonplus."

"No. We can move on from here." She shifted her gaze to the weak light filtering in the window. "There is hope for us if you have come to see the baby. We can be a family."

"I did not come up here to see the baby."

Why else would he have come up to the nursery? Nothing else was here. If he had an order for the nursemaid, she would have been summoned to him.

Desperation clawed at Amelia. "I still love you, and I knew you could not love me when you knew the worst, but I hoped."

"Damn you, for these games." George retreated to the door.