To Pleasure a Prince (19 page)

“Don’t you call me ‘dear girl’ ever again. I am not your ‘dear’ anything. And you are no brother of mine if you force me into this.”

“I’m not forcing you,” he said wearily. “Just explaining what I’ll be compelled to do if you do not go along.” Stepping up to her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “But if you do comply, I swear never to let him know that you were privy to my plans. You can act surprised when he finds out that Louisa has chosen to live at court with her father.”

“Her
father!”
She shoved his hand away. “The prince has never been a father to Louisa. He’s only being one now so he can get something from her.” Her breath came hot and heavy. “Marcus is twice the man you’ll ever be. It breaks my heart to think of deceiving him.”

“Then you should not have interfered in my affairs. I never asked you to make that silly bargain with him. I sure as hell did not ask you to go off in a carriage alone with him tonight.”

“Because you knew I would never do it for
your
deceitful reasons.” But she’d done it for her own, so she was as guilty as he.

“But you did do it, and now you must live with the consequences. Are you with me? Or shall I have a friendly chat with my future brother-in-law?”

Her blood ran cold at the very thought of how Marcus would regard her if he believed Simon’s accusations. “You swore on your honor to stay away from Louisa,” she said in a last-ditch effort to sway him. “Would you break your word?”

“I swore an oath to my regent that is higher. If Draker demands satisfaction for my broken promise, I will give it to him.” He eyed her coldly. “But if you care for him, you’ll make sure he doesn’t demand satisfaction. Because I’m a very good shot.”

Yes, he was. And for all she knew, Marcus couldn’t hit a building at twenty paces. “All right. I’ll keep silent. But I will never forgive you for this. Never.”

He said nothing as she strode out into the hall. Perhaps he sensed he was on the verge of having his eyes scratched out. Or perhaps he was proud of himself for triumphing over her. Whatever the case, he would soon discover that she was not the sort to lie down and play dead simply because he commanded it.

She headed straight for Cicely’s room, praying that her cousin was still awake and would agree to help her. Normally she’d have to twist Cicely’s arm to get her to act against Simon, but now that he’d spoken casually of banishing her to the country, she might not be so kindly disposed.

And Regina intended to use that to her advantage. Between her and Cicely, they could make sure Louisa was never vulnerable to Simon’s machinations. One way or the other, Louisa would always have someone on her side.

Your charge’s wedding need not ruin your future.

A clever woman will have already made herself indispensable to the family by the time her charge is married off.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

F
or the past nine years, Marcus had assumed that weddings were for other people. The farmer’s daughter marrying the brash young tenant. The aging schoolmistress marrying the local apothecary. The lady in the society column marrying her society gentleman, whose cheek
wasn’t
scored by a hideous scar.

Yet now he stood before a bishop, scar and all. He clasped the delicate hand of the most beautiful woman in England, nay, the world. And he was making her his wife.

Astonishing.

Yes, the wedding was a hurried affair, done by special license. Yes, it was small and private, without all the fuss Regina was probably used to. But it was still a wedding, and she was willing. Or mostly willing. The few times he’d seen her in the past week of wedding preparations she’d been rather formal with him. Still, she spoke her vows without hesitation.

But without eagerness either. Who could blame her? Stunning dukes’ daughters did not marry ungainly and reclusive louts like him, then settle happily into boring lives in the country away from fine society.

I must have the freedom to come and go to town as I please.

He scowled. Confound it all, he would
make
her be happy with him. He would keep her so satisfied at Castlemaine, in bed and out, that she would forget about town. He’d already leased the town house she’d demanded, but he’d be damned if he’d let her spend any time in it alone. He refused to follow his parents’ path, even if that meant keeping her by his side every waking hour.

The bishop pronounced them man and wife, but when Marcus went to kiss her, she dropped her lashes demurely. His gut tightened. Regina was never demure. Cool, yes. Reserved, sometimes. But not demure. Did she already regret their marriage?

Not if he could help it.

Instead of giving her the polite peck on the lips that their guests probably expected, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her soundly, determined to lay his claim to her as publicly as possible.

When he drew back, amid polite titters among the guests, her breath came in quick gasps, and the spark was back in her eyes. Even if it
was
a spark of anger, it was better than her sudden modesty. He wouldn’t let her be modest, not with him and not today.

After a week craving the sweet taste of her mouth, he was ravenous for her. And he meant to make her ravenous for him, too. Tonight he would make her his, totally and irrevocably.
His
wife. And God help her if she denied him.

They faced the guests, then made their quick way down the aisle of St. James’s Church.

“I suppose you’re quite pleased with yourself,” she grumbled under her breath. “I swear, sometimes you make me—”

“—wish that you hadn’t come after me that night at Almack’s?”

She cast him a startled glance. “No.” Then she added, “But did you have to remind
everyone
why we’re marrying so hastily?”

A grim smile touched his lips. “I’ll do whatever it takes to show your sniveling suitors that you’re no longer available.”

“Surely the wedding did that,” she shot back.

But the sharpness had left her voice, and she wore a ghost of a smile.

Outside, a lavishly decorated open landau waited to take them to the wedding breakfast at Foxmoor’s mansion. As they waved at guests and bystanders, he said under his breath, “Can’t we skip the breakfast and head straight to the honeymoon?”

She avoided his gaze. “Do men of your size ever skip meals?”

He lifted her hand to press a quick kiss into her palm. “Depends on what they’re hungry for. The sort of meal I want right now is best eaten in private.”

Her blush brought his every muscle to attention. “Behave,” she said, in a throaty whisper.

“I’ll try. For now, anyway.”

Unfortunately, the wedding breakfast was designed to ensure good behavior. They had no privacy from the moment they arrived at Foxmoor’s. There were an ungodly number of guests for a small wedding. Besides Miss Tremaine, the Iversleys, and Byrne, several lords and ladies from Regina’s usual set had attended, half of whom he’d never even met.

Whitmore and his brothers were in attendance, too, although that didn’t bother Marcus. During the endless congratulations in the receiving line, he found it immensely entertaining to gloat over the sullen Whitmore. He made sure the man was watching every time he bent to whisper in Regina’s ear or took her arm or touched her hand. By the time Whitmore finally left—earlier than his brothers—Marcus was actually beginning to enjoy himself.

Except for one other annoyance. Even if Foxmoor was on his best behavior, even if having him at the wedding couldn’t have been avoided, Marcus didn’t like having him anywhere near Louisa.

As he and Regina left the receiving line, Marcus looked for Louisa and frowned when he saw her in close conversation with Miss Tremaine. “When did my sister and your cousin become such fast friends?”

Regina’s smile looked forced. “Why shouldn’t they be friends? Cicely is now a guest at the Iversleys’, so they’ll be in each other’s pockets a great deal.”

“I still don’t understand why Miss Tremaine couldn’t stay at Castlemaine or our new town house.”

“She’s sickly—I did not want her staying alone anywhere.”

“My servants would have taken good care of her.”

“All the same, Lady Iversley does not mind having her as a guest, and I feel better knowing that someone is looking out for her.”

He supposed he should count his blessings that the damned woman wasn’t coming on their honeymoon. He’d had a devil of a time convincing Regina not to bring a lady’s maid.

Still…“Your cousin had better not be planning to help your brother break his promise.”

“She’s loyal to me, and she knows I would never countenance such a thing. Even if he would attempt it.”

She wouldn’t look at him, and that made him uneasy. “He’d attempt it, you can be sure. I don’t trust your brother.”

Her gaze swung him. “Do you trust
me?”

Not when it comes to him, I don’t.
But he wasn’t fool enough to say that aloud. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then believe me when I say that Cicely can be trusted, too.” Regina’s gaze drifted back to Louisa. “If you’re still concerned about Simon, why don’t you tell Louisa your suspicions? Put her on her guard.”

“She wouldn’t believe me. She already knows how suspicious I am of the prince and his friends—she would accuse me of having an unjust bias. And to convince her, I’d have to tell her—” He broke off, cursing his quick tongue.

“Tell her what?”

He sighed. As his wife, she might as well know the truth. “That there’s some question about her parentage, at least in Prinny’s mind. He claims she’s his.”

She seemed oddly unsurprised to hear it. “I take it that you disagree?”

“She’s not the prince’s daughter, no matter what he says.”

“Are you sure?”

“Circumstances make it impossible. And Prinny knows it, too. If he thought she was his, he would have challenged me for guardianship long ago, like he and Mrs. Fitzherbert did with Lady Horatia Seymour’s girl.”

“But Minney had no immediate family to claim her after her mother died, just uncles and cousins.”

“None of whom believed that Prinny was her father, even though her mother had been his mistress. Yet the prince fought for guardianship of the girl.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t fight you because he knows Louisa is in good hands.”

Marcus eyed her askance. “He knows how much I despise him. That insult to his pride alone should make him fight me.”

She was silent a moment. “Would it be so awful if Louisa
was
His Highness’s daughter?”

Anger knotted in his belly. “I’ve lived most of my life knowing I was a fraud—not a true heir to a prince and not a true heir to a viscount, either. I knew I was the illicit product of a union despised by the Church and abhorred by respectable people. I was the very symbol of all that is wrong with our society. I would not lay that burden on anyone, but especially not on Louisa.”

“She is a grown woman now. She can handle the knowledge.”

“Can she? I don’t see
you
telling her that your brother is an ass who wants her only for political gain.”

Paling, she glanced away. “Because it’s not true.” She added in a whisper, “And if it were, it would break her heart.”

“Exactly. That’s why I don’t want her to know about any of this. I’d rather separate them. I can endure playing the awful, overprotective brother if that’s what it takes to give Foxmoor time to grow tired of this maneuver and give up.”

“And if he doesn’t give up?” When he raised an eyebrow at her, she added, “I mean courting her, of course.”

“If he persists in any of it, I will have his head.” He shot her a stern look. “And if you help your brother, I swear I will have yours, too.”

“I have no intention of helping him if it means harming your sister.” She added in a quiet voice tinged in sadness, “Whether you believe it or not, I have never wanted anything but the best for Louisa.”

“Good.”

But the whole conversation left a bad taste in his mouth that was not wiped away by the costly dishes provided at the breakfast. Regina was keeping something from him. He sensed it. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

His unease lingered even after the breakfast ended and they climbed into his carriage. Both of them were somewhat tipsy from champagne, and she had changed her gossamer wedding gown for a rather formidable traveling costume. The peach-colored thing was fastened right up to her chin by an untold number of tassels and was finished off at the top with a many-pointed collar. It practically shouted, “Don’t touch!”

It might not bother him so much if she didn’t also take the seat opposite him, instead of next to him. That did not bode well for the evening.

Trying to settle her, he reached in his pocket and pulled out what Louisa had given him earlier. “Here,” he said, tossing the envelope into Regina’s lap as the coach rumbled off. “Louisa asked me to give this to you when we set out. I imagine it’s some female nonsense welcoming you to the family.”

But his gesture seemed to worry more than soothe her. With shaky hands, she tucked it inside her reticule. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“I’ll read it later.”

“I don’t mind if you read it now.”

“I prefer privacy when I read my letters. Just so you’ll know.”

“I see.” But he did not see. Was this how she meant their marriage to be, stiff and formal and “private”? That didn’t sit well with him. But how could he change it?

They rode for some time in awkward silence before she asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She swallowed. “One I will like?”

“I certainly hope so. It will give us the chance to be alone.”

“For how long?”

“However long we wish.”

She sucked in a breath, then stared down at her hands. “We’re not going anywhere…too remote, are we?”

That put him further on his guard. “What do you mean?”

“There will be servants who can send a message for me?”

“If you want. To whom will you be sending messages?”

“I’ll want Cicely to know my direction in case she needs to reach me.”

“Fine.” Her questions and strange reliance on her cousin exasperated him. “As long as you’re not planning to have her show up, send her all the messages you wish.” He eyed her closely. “Are you afraid of being alone with me?”

She shot him a guarded glance. “No, of course not.”

“Then what’s wrong? You were less prickly with me when we weren’t even betrothed than you are now as my wife.”

She forced a smile. “Every woman is nervous on her wedding day.”

“Then I have the perfect cure.” He reached across the carriage and hauled her over and onto his lap.

“Marcus!” She trying to wriggle free. “It’s broad daylight!”

“It’s nearly dusk. Besides, we’re married.” Before she could protest further, he kissed her deeply. At first she seemed oddly timid about returning the kiss, but it didn’t take long for her natural sensuality to assert itself.

When her arms crept about his neck, he growled his approval and kissed her with a week’s worth of longing. He wouldn’t deflower her in his carriage like some uncivilized beast, but he could damned well prepare her for the deflowering later. They would reach their destination in only a couple of hours, which left him plenty of time to rouse her hunger and ease her virginal misgivings.

If he could last that long. Each kiss led to a hotter one until he thought he might perish if he didn’t soon taste her sweet flesh.

He bent to kiss her neck, then nearly blinded one eye. “What the devil!” he swore as he jerked back. He poked at her deceptively lacy collar. “What are these pointy things?”

“It’s a ruff,” she said indignantly. “With wire in it to make it stand up.”

“It’s lethal,” he grumbled. “Did you
want
me not to touch you?”

A musical laugh cascaded from her. “I didn’t even think about that when I had it made.
La Belle Assemblee
calls it ‘the most elegant and novel’ carriage costume to appear in a long time. Don’t you agree?”

“It’s novel, I’ll give you that.”

“I thought it looked fetching.”

“Fetchingly draconian, perhaps.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Then it’s perfect for the Dragon Viscount’s wife.”

He cast her a grudging smile. “The Dragon Viscountess. It suits you. Only
you
would choose clothing designed to torture a man.”

She arched one eyebrow. “It never occurred to me that you might attack me as soon as we entered the carriage.”

“Then you don’t know your husband very well.” He nipped her earlobe. “I can see I shall have to help you pick your gowns from now on. Because I don’t intend to suffer this torture every time I try to kiss my wife.”

“Oh, the poor dragon,” she teased. “Thwarted by a traveling costume. How shall you ever hold your head up among the other dragons?”

“There better not be any other dragons,” he whispered in her ear. “I mean to be the only one.”