To Pleasure a Prince (23 page)

Your charge will follow your rules more eagerly if she has first seen the consequences of breaking them.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

R
egina had tried. And tried. And tried some more. Yet after four days of torture, she was no closer to learning to read than she’d been before. Worse yet, she wanted to strangle the person who’d devised that horrible invention, the primer. She even wanted to strangle Marcus. Because he simply would not give up.

It was midmorning of the fifth day of their honeymoon as she sat with him in Illyria’s pretty drawing room, laboring over the primer he had brought back from the main house. She was tired of feeling stupid, tired of the worry on his face when she said the wrong thing, tired of his frustration, which mirrored her own.

Most of all, she was tired of the headaches. And Marcus, curse his soul, would not forget his mission for one minute and let her go to bed with a cold compress. Not unless she seduced him first, which she couldn’t manage when her head hurt.

Some honeymoon this was turning out to be.

“Again, Regina.” He turned a page of the red-covered book she’d come to loathe. “Look at the shape of the letter. A ‘b’ has the belly to the right, not to the left. The letter that
you
are writing is a ‘d.’ ”

“For ‘dolt,’ ” she muttered. “Or do I have that wrong, too?”

“You are not a dolt.”

“I wasn’t speaking of myself.” Thrusting the book aside, she sat back to glare at him. “When will you just admit that I cannot do it? After all these hours of work, I can still barely read my name, much less a book. And as for writing…”

“I know, I know.” He rubbed his stubbled chin. “I truly thought it would be easier. I confess I have a greater respect for Miss Tremaine now than before. But if you’d just try—”

“Try!” Slamming the book shut, she leaped out of her chair. “How dare you! I’ve stared at these dratted books until my eyes cross and my bottom is numb from sitting, and you have the audacity—”

“You didn’t let me finish, dearling.” He hauled her onto his lap. “I know you’ve tried. What I started to say was that if you’d try not to think of it as impossible, we might get somewhere. Instead of being defeated before we even start.”

A little mollified, she touched her head to his. “I only think of it as impossible because it is. Why do you insist that I can do something I’ve tried for years with no success?”

“Because I have faith in you,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. “You weren’t given a proper chance to attempt it before.”

“I have
now,”
she said. “Perhaps it is time to admit defeat.”

“No!” He drew back to scowl at her. “I won’t let you.”

Her throat grew raw and tight. “Why is it so important to you? Can you not bear the thought of your wife being unable to read?”

“That’s not it. If I thought you were content with such a state of affairs, I could be content, too. But you’re not. Admit it.”

“I should dearly love to learn to read, but it’s not absolutely essential, you know. Once our honeymoon is over, and Cicely is living with us—”

“We don’t
need
Cicely. If I have to, I’ll read to you myself.”

She stroked his cheek. “Don’t be silly. You can’t always be around to do such things.”

A stubborn look crossed his face. “I certainly can. And I will.”

“Louisa told me that you are far more involved in the affairs of your estate than the average lord. You won’t be able to drop everything to read the housekeeper’s menu or a set of instructions for me.”

“I’m lord of the manor—I’ll do whatever I please. I don’t want you always having to rely on your cousin. Either you learn, or I’ll read to you, and that’s that.”

She frowned. “Then what happens to Cicely?”

He shrugged. “She can live at the town house indefinitely. She’d probably prefer that—more things to do in town.”

“She couldn’t live alone. And anyway, I don’t want you reading everything to me. There are certain things a woman likes to keep private from her husband.”

His black scowl would have burned ice. “Like what?”

“Like correspondence with female friends.” A flush stole over her cheeks. “And information for ladies that is of a certain…delicate nature.” She could not endure having him read to her the latest description of a corset’s fine qualities, for heaven’s sake. “And when we return to town in a few days, I’ll—”

“What do you mean, when we return to town? We’re not going back to town anytime soon.”

Her heart began to pound. “But the season isn’t even over. And I thought you’d want to be in town for Louisa.”

“Why? She’s got the Iversleys.” He searched her face. “Unless you know of some other reason I should hurry back to town for Louisa.”

She forced a smile, though panic had broken loose in her chest. “No, of course not. But surely you want to be around to assess the other gentlemen who court her or offer for her. There’s only a month or two left.”

“I mean for us to spend that time here, so you can get comfortable with your duties as lady of Castlemaine.”

She hid her shaking hands in her lap. “We can do that once the season is over.” When Louisa would either marry someone or return to Castlemaine to await the next season. “But during this time of year, I prefer to be in town.”

“I prefer that you be here.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

She tipped up her chin. “I could always go there alone, you know.”

“Not unless I allow it.”

A cold chill shook her. Until now, she had not seen any evidence of the tyrannical husband she had feared he might be. “You promised me I could come and go to town as I pleased.”

“I didn’t realize you meant to shirk your duties as my wife to do it.”

His words got her dander up. “If you try to keep me here against my will, I shall summon Cicely to fetch me.”

“How? You can’t exactly send her a letter.”

She colored. “I’ll ask one of the servants to write a letter for me.”

“Will you?” He smiled grimly. “I dare say not a single servant in your own household ever knew you couldn’t read, so you’re not likely to reveal it to a servant in mine.”

The fact that he was right only increased her anger. “Then I shall hire someone in your little village—”

“Now
that,
my dear, I will definitely not allow.”

“What? Do you mean to forbid me to do it?”

“Absolutely.” When the word sent her scrambling to get off his lap, he held her firmly, his own temper flaring in his face. “I’ve spent half my life as the object of the most cruel gossip. The local populace has finally come to see me as a fair and just landlord who cares what happens to his land and his tenants, and you want me to give them a reason to gossip about my
wife?
To talk about how she’s itching to leave me a mere week after we married?”

“I am not itching—”

“You have no idea what it’s like. I can trust my servants to be loyal and discreet, but the townspeople…” He shook his head. “I will not allow it.”

All her anger dissolved. If anyone understood that sort of pride, it was her. But the fact remained that he was trying to keep her in a prison of his own making.

“Then I shall have to walk to London,” she said tightly. “Unless you mean to lock me in your dungeon?”

“Of course not.” A heavy sigh wracked him. “Very well, we’ll return to London for the season, if you wish.”

“I do.”

“But only
after
you give the reading lessons a few more days. All right?”

“All right.” She should be relieved that he had relented. But she had the uneasy feeling that disaster had only been postponed, not averted.

“Besides, our honeymoon has barely begun. Surely you will not begrudge me a few more days of keeping you to myself.”

“No,” she said, the yearning in his tone erasing some of her unease. Of course he would be demanding right now; they hadn’t even been married a week. “But I do not mean to spend the whole of it suffering through your books and my headaches. For today, at least, could we do something else?”

A smoldering heat leaped in his face. “Whatever you say,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers.

With a laugh, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Not
that,
you randy devil. We do plenty enough of that already.”

He released a frustrated oath. “Then what else did you have in mind?”

“For one thing, I could use a vigorous ride—” She caught herself even before his eyes started gleaming. “On a
horse.
Perhaps we could see the rest of your estate and tour the main house.” A mischievous smile touched her lips. “You could even show me your famous dungeon.”

His face instantly grew shuttered. “Let’s skip the dungeon. The damned place is cold and dreary, with nothing in it but old wine bottles and rusty chains. It’s no place for a lady.”

“But all your talk about it and the rumors have made me curious.”

“Only because you have a false image of it in your head. It’s not what you’ve imagined, I promise you.” He cast her a forced smile. “If you really want to see it, I’ll show it to you, but I’d prefer not to stir up the rats by going down there.”

Rats. Ugh. “Never mind. I’ll take your word for it.”

“A ride, however, sounds pleasant. And the weather’s perfect for it.” His mouth brushed her ear as he slid his hand inside her bodice to fondle her breast. “But first, dearling, I want a private ride. I deserve a reward after making so many concessions.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” She pretended to be affronted, though her blood had already begun to heat and her pulse to race. “And if I say otherwise?”

“Then I’ll just have to convince you.” He thumbed her nipple until she groaned and pressed her breast into his hand. “I gather it won’t be too difficult.”

“You are…”

He kissed her neck.

“…a very wicked…

He tongued her throat.

“…dragon.”

“Always,” he murmured, as he kissed his way up her chin to her mouth. “But only with you, my dear, only with you.”

The afternoon sun was dipping low on the horizon as they rode up to the main house. Marcus watched his wife, searching for any sign that she disapproved of his father’s fanciful renovations. But her face showed that she was as pleased with it as she’d been with the rest of his estate.

It gave him hope. Perhaps now she wouldn’t be so eager to return to town. She seemed to like what she had seen this afternoon. She’d exclaimed over the trout ponds, admired the vast barley fields, and questioned him on the efficiency of his dairy. Though her comments and queries had demonstrated how little she knew about running an estate, he could certainly not fault her enthusiasm.

But how long could mere enthusiasm last? Without help, she could not supervise the menus for meals, deal with correspondence regarding the hiring of servants, oversee the housekeeper’s ordering of supplies, and other such things.

She knew it, too. Already she wanted to escape duties that her inability to read would make more painful. It reminded him of his mother’s own cravings for the delights of town.

He shook off that thought. Regina differed markedly from his mother, despite their surface similarities. Look at her—even now her pretty cheeks were bright from their ride, her eyes sparkling with energy. Nothing like Mother, who’d found the estate boring and dreary.

Regina had a natural intelligence that delighted in any challenge—like learning to be lady of the manor. Besides, if she’d been so very happy in town, why had she sought the adventure of a courtship with him in the first place?

Yet he could not rest easy. It wasn’t that he minded taking her to town. Now that he wasn’t such an outcast, he might enjoy an evening at the theater or dinner at Iversley’s. But he could never be entirely easy with the cream of society, where he might encounter the prince.

Besides, he liked being a country gentleman most of the time. His only complaint had been the loneliness, and now that she was here…

But for how long? She had him trapped. He had no wish to stay in town all the time. If he kept her here by force, she would hate him. And if he let her go to town alone, how long before she found some companion—

Damn, this jealousy was a plague upon his soul. He wished he did not care what she did. But he cared too much. He was rapidly falling under her spell. He craved her more every day. He hated watching her suffer through her headaches, and he found himself willing to spend any sum just to bring a smile to her lips. If he didn’t watch it, she’d soon have him dancing to her tune just as Mother had done to Father, and then…

“Are you going to show me your gardens?” she asked, drawing her mount up beside him with a winsome smile that clutched at his heart.

Great God, she looked like a sunlit garden herself, with her hair shining golden beneath a blue bonnet that turned her grey eyes the color of sky, and her spenser embroidered with a bunch of little flowers. No wonder half the men in London had wanted her. Probably still wanted her.

His heart lurched in his chest.

“Marcus? The gardens? You do have some, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But they’ve been sadly neglected since Louisa left. They were hers to oversee, and our aging gardener has not carried on very well without her supervision.” He eyed her closely. “Do you like gardening?”

“I like other people’s gardening,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “But I’m not fond of dirt and bugs. If you had to depend on me to take your gardens in hand, they would soon look quite sad.” She sighed. “You chose a very ornamental wife, Marcus. I do hope you don’t come to regret it.”

“Nonsense,” he said through a tight throat, “I could never regret it. I can always hire a new gardener, if need be. But I could never hire a wife.”

A groom came running from the nearby stables, and Marcus dismounted. “Come, dearling, let’s stroll through my gardens, such as they are.” He handed his reins to the groom, then went to her side. “Perhaps you’ll find you don’t mind the dirt and bugs so much after all.”

With a skeptical look, she let him help her dismount, but she remained silent as they wandered through the neat little walks beside which grew a profusion of flowers that could benefit from an expert hand.

Not hers, however. She’d made that perfectly clear.