Virtue and Vice (15 page)

“I think the time has come for us to make our way to Chesworth House. My bride has had a long day and it grows late. Thank you for sharing this day with us. We must leave, but please, I urge you to remain and enjoy yourselves.”

No one protested, and of course, why would they? All they saw was a groom anxious to be alone with his bride. Ramsay hauled her from the hall and toward the front door, where a carriage waited to take them to his nearby home. He didn’t even offer her a chance to bid her family farewell. Izzy resisted an urge to throw a panicked glance toward Belinda.

Only her mother rushed to the door to see them off, giving Izzy a gentle hug and a stroke to her cheek. “Be well, my love.”

Izzy forced a smile. Then the door closed behind them and her new husband was handing her into the waiting carriage, making no effort to hide his impatience.

As the vehicle bore them through the darkness, down the long driveway, away from the familiarity of her home and loved ones, Izzy gathered her courage to challenge Ramsay and then turned to him, making sure to catch his gaze with her own. There were but minutes until the carriage reached Chesworth house, Izzy’s new home. If they were to salvage anything from this day and find peace with one another, it must be now, before they arrived at Ramsay’s home where he’d have all the advantage and she’d resent him for it. Surely he wanted to make this marriage work, didn’t he?

The object of her musings faced her in stony silence, his grey eyes smoldering in the dim light cast by the sole lantern in the carriage. As the wheels went over a rut the lantern swung gently, casting Ram’s shadow upon the vehicles door beside him. It looked huge and intimidating, even a little menacing, much like the man who’d cast the shade.

“M-may we talk, my lord?”             

He inclined his head in the age-old symbol of permission.

“As it is our wedding day I thought perhaps you might indulge me”-

His eyes widened in disbelief and a harsh laugh exploded from his lips. “I will
never
be indulgent with you, Isabelle. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can ever manipulate me the way you’ve manipulated everyone else in your life. I’m not a fool and your life will be far more tolerable if you accept that truth now.”

Izzy recoiled at the vehemence in his voice. The beat of her heart increased to a staccato pace.

She swallowed, then tried again. “I-I only want you to know the truth ere this marriage begins on the wrong foot.” As if that time hadn’t come and gone hours past! She watched his face for any sign of reaction, but there was none. He may as well have worn a mask, for all that his thoughts and feelings were hidden behind a façade of stone.

“Julian, I’ve never lain with a man,” she blurted. “Until I met you I’d never done more than exchange a few kisses. I swear there was no one, not this past se’nnight, and not before you. I’m a virgin still. I lied to my father because I was desperate to avoid marriage. I thought”- She realized she was wringing her hands in her lap and forced them to relax. “I thought my father would protect me.” Her voice came out as an unintended whisper, as just thinking about how wrong she’d been about Papa hurt so very much.

A muscle jumped in his cheek. He turned away, staring through the window into the darkness without. She waited for him to acknowledge her confession, but he didn’t speak or even nod his head to indicate he’d heard her words.

He didn’t say a word at all. The only sound in the carriage was that of the hooves of the horses and the squeaks of the wheels that jostled them upon the road ever faster to Chesworth House.

Panic engulfed her as the carriage slowed. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to be! Ramsay should have listened to her confession, perhaps even chastised her for lying to Papa, but in the end he was supposed to apologize for the charade he’d played and by doing so extend an olive branch she‘d gladly take. They were supposed to laugh over this misunderstanding, perhaps as they shared a drink before bed. He wasn’t supposed to ignore her confession as if she hadn’t spoken. What kind of marriage could they possibly hope to have if they spent their first night as a wedded couple bitter and angry? She had to find a way to make him understand!

But the carriage came to a stop without another word spoken by either of them. Through the window, Izzy saw an imposing manor house, her new home, but her despondency was so great she couldn’t bring herself to even be interested, let alone excited. In silence, Ramsay leapt from the carriage and then helped her down from the high perch. If any of the servants were watching, they’d think Ramsay the most polite of bridegrooms. Izzy might have been able to pretend as well but for the tight grasp he once more took on her arm. Surely she’d have marks from his fingers forever embedded on her flesh as a result of this day.

A butler wearing a grin opened the massive oak door before they’d ascended the five stone steps, but the smile faded the moment he looked at Ramsay and any greeting he’d prepared died on his lips. Instead he simply nodded and held the door ajar as Ramsay led her into a richly furnished foyer of dark green and golden hues. The marble beneath her feet was the finest cut Italianate with delicate gold veining, the tapestries on the wall expertly woven, yet faded from years of wear. The cool polish of her new home seemed a perfect fit for her new husband, a man who didn’t resemble in the least the exciting, easygoing man she’d become so closely acquainted with these past weeks. The rustic warmth she’d known with Julian in the humble cottage would never fit into these surroundings.

The thought filled Izzy with sorrow and her throat clogged with tears. That Julian had never truly existed, and that she’d never see him again was suddenly more than she could bear, especially since the only thing she wanted was to see a small hint of Julian in her husband. She stared at her feet, fighting the desperate need to cry.

Ramsay didn’t introduce her to the butler. Propriety was hardly on his mind, which was made all too apparent when he motioned her to precede him up the stairs with naught but a jerk of the head. Izzy had never been in this house before, but the servants at Rendstell would have sent on her belongings earlier in the day. She assumed he was taking her to what would be her bedchamber. As she stiffly ascended the stairs she couldn’t help wonder if this was how the regicides felt on their way to the gallows at the behest of the newly restored king.

Izzy breathed deeply, forcing herself to remain calm and think rationally about what was to come. Whether he took her to a bedchamber of her own or to his chamber, she need not fear unduly. Even though he was furious, even though he wasn’t Julian, this man had always been patient and tender with her in previous relations of this sort. ‘Twas normal to feel trepidation on one’s wedding night, for she was a virgin, but more than uncertainty of the unknown, she had nothing to fear. And perhaps once they were alone, together, Ramsay would be in a more amenable mood and they could talk about her false confession and laugh about it. Surely they’d have to speak at some time. Ramsay wouldn’t want to make love to her while he was so angry, would he? If they were to consummate the marriage this night, surely they must find common ground first. Or perhaps he was so angry he wouldn’t want to consummate their union this night.

She wasn’t sure which option she preferred, but finally, Izzy began to relax. Either way, there was nothing to fear overmuch.

Before they climbed even a third of the way Ramsay’s fingers tightened around her arm and he dragged her to a sudden halt. She turned to him in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“Hawthorne!”

The butler reappeared instantly in the foyer below, ready to please. “Aye, my lord?”

“We are not to be disturbed under
any
circumstance. No matter what you hear from my chamber, we are to be left alone. Is that understood?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Izzy went cold with terror.

***

Ram had waited for this night for one very long month, and while he was now saddled with a faithless bride, he’d at least get his full enjoyment on her. The thought almost amused him. Who could have imagined there’d ever be a silver lining when it came to having a whore for wife?

Though he’d pretended otherwise, he’d been aware of Izzy every moment of the day. Her coldness had been expected after the events in the baron’s study. But the haughty little bitch had spent the entire day in a sulk, rebuffing both her father and Belinda, too, presumably for the part each had played in the hellish farce that had culminated with the wedding. No doubt not getting her way for once had pricked her spoiled pride and mauled her shallow dignity.

’Twas obvious now she thought to manipulate him in order to gain the upper hand, hence the sudden portrayal as a shy, frightened bride. He snorted as he thought about her earlier request, that he
indulge
her, of all things. As if a lifetime of pampering and indulgence hadn’t already caused enough damage, hadn’t led her to believe she could behave any way she pleased without consequences. God, she was a consummate liar.

His heart twisted. Everything she’d done today was proof that the Izzy who had enchanted him these last weeks with her sweetness and innocent eagerness never existed. It had all been naught but a big lie. He’d fallen for a girl who wasn’t real, and the loss of the bright future he’d envisioned made him want to punish her, hurt her, for making him want something he didn’t even know he wanted, and now never would. Damn her! To come so close, only to discover in the eleventh hour that he could have her, but never the way he’d wanted her. Legally, he now possessed her body, but she would give him nothing more of herself and the marriage he’d looked so forward to would be empty. And he wouldn’t even be the only man to have possessed her body. The unmitigated gall it took for her to try to convince him she was a virgin after her outrageous behavior in the cottage, infuriated him.

Even still, misplaced hope forced him to consider her words. Could there be
any
truth to her claim? Was it possible she’d dallied with other men, yet kept the ultimate prize out of reach all this time? Noblewomen were clever and devious and used to getting what they wanted, all the while remaining within the bounds of propriety, even if they sometimes pushed at the very boundaries. They excelled at it. Was it possible she spoke true?

Nay. That was only wishful thinking. He need only recollect the afternoon weeks ago, when he’d almost lost control, when he pleasured her with his cock. Not once did she try to stop him or simply warn him she was a maiden. There wasn’t even an attempt on her part to be coy. Nay, she’d been so eager to fuck, she’d practically begged for it. Her repertoire included tricks that could impress even the most jaded of whores and courtesans. No innocent maid could know the things she did, it wasn’t possible. A potent combination of love and lust blinded him to the truth, but now it was all so glaringly obvious she played him for a fool. And she’d compounded it by blatantly lying to him in the carriage.

Did she think him an utter dupe? No matter what tricks she planned, did she really believe she could convince him she was virgin? Would she pretend shyness, or cry frightened crocodile tears, or cut her finger while he slept and leave blood on the sheets? As if he couldn’t tell the difference between a virgin and a woman of experience!

Fury, kept at a simmer throughout the course of the long day, now boiled over. She’d soon learn that she didn’t own even the smallest control over him. She would
never
twist him around her finger as she did everyone else. If he had to break her pride and her very spirit to make her grasp that truth, then so be it.

The object of his musings remained silent until he thrust her into his bedchamber and locked the door behind him. He laid the key on top of a tall wardrobe, far too high for her to reach.

“Julian, please, you must listen to me,” Izzy cried the moment he faced her.

“Ramsay.” He bit out. “My name is Ramsay. You may call me Ram. Or husband. Or better yet, Master. But do
not
call me Julian.”

She recoiled, putting more distance between them.

He removed his shirt, throwing it to the floor with no care for its condition. Izzy’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Jul- Ramsay, we must talk.”

He pulled off one black boot. “There’s been enough talk. What I’m interested in need not involve talking at all.”

She pressed herself against the wall, her face a mask of misery. But her theatrics would not sway him. She was an expert actress, he’d learned that firsthand.

His other boot landed with a thud beside the first. “You’d best get that gown off if you don’t want it torn from you.”

She gasped at the threat but made no move to comply.

He reached for the waistband of his breeches and began to peel them down.

A strangled cry escaped her and she flung out a hand in appeal. “Please. I don’t want our marriage to start this way! Please don’t do this. We’ll both regret it!”

He straightened, then paused, leaving his breeches open, sitting low on his hips. “In what way would that be, Isabelle? You don’t want to begin this marriage with deception? With lies? As a woman of loose morals? It’s too late for that! You weren’t worrying about the start of our marriage when you were out cavorting with any man you found! Perhaps I could have overlooked what you did before our betrothal, but tell me, Isabelle, just how many men did you fuck
after
we were betrothed?”