A Momentary Marriage Read online

  James slid the ring along her finger, the cool metal caressing her skin. Her stomach fluttered at his touch. The tumult inside her grew even worse as his words followed, twining all through her: “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

  James raised his head as he finished, his eyes glinting, as though he knew the sensations that ran through her and was faintly amused by them. When the vicar pronounced them man and wife and said to kiss the bride, Laura’s stomach jumped. She had not considered this, either.

  He cupped her face with his free hand, and Laura wondered wildly if he thought he must hold her in place to keep her from avoiding him. He bent toward her, and she closed her eyes, maddeningly aware that she was trembling. His lips touched hers, soft and warm, and her heart began to slam in her chest. But he did not linger, just lifted his head and gazed down into her eyes for a moment.

  He drew back, keeping his fingers interlaced with hers as they walked up the aisle. Laura wasn’t sure whether he did it to annoy her or to conceal the faint trembling that had begun in his hand. It was odd indeed to have any part of her flesh against the skin of this man, whom a week ago she would have said she disliked. Yet it stirred a curious sense of excitement in her, as well.

  He did not speak until they were at the carriage. There he bowed slightly as he handed her up into the vehicle. “Lady de Vere.”

  Laura drew in a little skipping breath. She was no longer Laura Hinsdale, but this man’s wife. Unreal as it all seemed, her life had changed in an instant. Forever.

  “Regrets already?” That eyebrow lifted, inciting the familiar spurt of irritation in her.

  It occurred to Laura that he did it for exactly that reason—to ignite a flash of temper, however small. In the next moment, she understood why. It was to deflect her attention from him, a quick and easy distraction.

  “No. Simply absorbing the fact.” She refused to let him draw her. What, she wondered, did he want her not to see in him? She took in the pinched lines at the corner of his mouth, the dull pain in his eyes. The ceremony, however short the vicar had made it, had taken a toll on him. His hand was trembling more, and he thrust it into the pocket of his jacket.

  “I must spend a few minutes at the house before we go on,” she told him. “To change into my carriage dress.”

  Was that a faint glimpse of relief in his expression? “Very well.”

  He followed her into the house and settled down in the parlor with Demosthenes. Laura changed into a dress better suited for traveling, then slipped into the kitchen to make tea. Minutes later, she reentered the parlor, carrying a tray laden with teapot, cups, and scones.

  James, who had been leaning back in the wing chair, opened his eyes. “Now it’s tea?”

  “I was too nervous this morning to eat.” She was getting the hang of dealing with him. “I was sure you would not mind.”

  “Naturally.” His voice was heavy with irony.

  “Try one of these scones. My neighbor brought them this morning as a farewell gesture. They’re quite delicious.”

  He broke off a piece and began to eat. “I didn’t realize you were such a managing sort. Perhaps I should have inquired before I proposed.”

  “Probably a wise idea,” she agreed blandly, not rising to his jab, as she set a scone on the hearth for Dem. “I fear I’m unlikely to change now. I’ve been at it for years; Papa, you see, usually had his mind on more important things than food or billing his patients.”

  She felt rather triumphant when James ate half the scone and drank his tea. His face was somewhat less drawn, though there was still a pinch of pain between his eyes. “Have you a headache? I could get you something for it. My father’s bag of remedies—”

  “It would not help. Believe me, I have taken medicines by the score.” He set down his cup with a rattle. “I think it’s time we left.”

  She had made a misstep there. However, Laura was not one to give up easily. She went along with him, but as soon as they were settled in the carriage, Dem sprawled on the floor between their seats, Laura took up the subject again.

  “You did not tell me what your illness was.”

  “No, I did not.”

  She crossed her arms and gazed levelly at him. “It’s a long ride to spend in silence.”

  He returned her stare for a moment, then muttered, “The devil with it.” He continued in a crisp impersonal tone, “I have a cough. Headaches. My heart beats irregularly. Lately my hand . . .” He unconsciously rubbed his left hand. “Food often nauseates me. I cannot sleep, and when I manage to do so, I frequently have odd, vivid dreams. The other day I—I could not remember where the bank was located.” He turned his head to stare out the window, setting his jaw. “There. Does that satisfy you?”

  Laura tamped down the pity that rose in her. James, she suspected, would close the topic immediately if she offered sympathy. “What was the diagnosis?”

  “Lord, but you are persistent. Let me see . . . the first doctor said catarrh. Another suspected consumption. Next, a bad heart. When my hand began to shake, they thought it palsy. One doctor suggested brain fever and offered trepanning as a cure. I have tonics to inhale to aid my cough and pills to combat the headaches. I gave up the pills because they made me feel worse, and I’ve no desire to let them cut open my head and go exploring. In the end, they decided on brain tumor. Apparently one growing at a rather rapid rate.”

  “I suppose that would explain the varied symptoms.”

  “It scarcely matters, does it? It’s all the same in the end.”

  Laura swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “No reason to be. Not your fault. And nothing to be done about it.”

  He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Laura studied his face. He was such an unyielding man. One would almost think his will alone would keep him alive. Which was, she reasoned, exactly how he wanted to appear.

  She wondered what really drove James. Pride? Sheer contrariness? He had both those in full measure. The face he presented to the world was cold and practical. And perhaps that was all there was to him. Still, she had seen the regret and despair that had flashed in his eyes at unguarded moments, the humor that made its way past his pain, the affection for his dog. He was a puzzle, and she had always been intrigued by puzzles. A little pang went through her; there might not be enough time to figure him out.

  As the time passed, Laura could see that the ride wore on James. Trapped in this carriage with her for hours, he could not completely hide the severity of his condition. She saw his hand twitch even though he immediately tucked it under his leg or shoved it into his pocket. She saw the lines of his face deepen, his jaw clench, his face grow paler, his erect posture begin to sag. Once for a short time he slept, and in that state, stripped of pretense, he could not hold back a low moan or hide a wince.

  It did not surprise her that he didn’t halt the carriage for himself, only for the horses. Laura had learned enough of him not to comment or ask if his pain was worse. Instead, whenever she saw that he was flagging, she told him she needed to rest or take a stroll or have refreshments. James always complied, though once or twice he cast a speculative glance at her.

  It was awkward to sit together for hours without talking. But a few general questions brought only brief responses from him. Obviously, James was not a man for idle chitchat. Finally, grasping at conversational straws, Laura asked him about his family.

  “They’re an uninteresting lot, I assure you. You have met my mother, Tessa.”

  Laura smiled. “Yes. She’s charming.”

  “She is indeed. But I warn you, if you allow her to, she will have you running her errands constantly. Mother prefers living in London in general, but a few weeks ago she returned to Grace Hill for reasons I did not fully comprehend other than that it involved Lady Cumberton’s soiree and a certain dress.”

  Laura chuckled.

  “I h
ave no idea who Mother will have dancing attendance on her. It’s too difficult to keep up with her current swains. My brother Claude will be there. He likes to keep an eye on the estate he expects one day to rule.”

  “What is Claude like?”

  He paused, thinking. “Claude is . . . unsatisfied. He is married to a woman so sweet she will make your teeth ache . . . which could, I suppose, explain much of his dissatisfaction with life.”

  “Some would think sweetness of character a good thing in a wife,” Laura countered.

  “Not if they had met Adelaide. They have a son, Robbie.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s—” James stopped, confusion flickering in his eyes. “I’m not sure. Not an infant.” He muttered a curse.

  Seeing his discomfiture and remembering what he had said about his failing memory, Laura quickly moved on. “You have more than one brother?”

  “Another brother and a sister.” He seized the conversational diversion. “My sister, Patricia, is given to complaints. Otherwise, she is much like my mother, though less captivating. She is married to Archibald Salstone, whose single virtue is that one day his father will die and Archie will become Lord Salstone. Fortunately, they are not in residence at Grace Hill, but live in some huge and decaying pile of stones in Wiltshire. My youngest brother, Walter, is still at Oxford, though he is as likely to be at home as at school, since he manages to get sent down for something or other regularly.”

  “Is that everyone?” she asked when he paused.

  James shrugged. “There is Cousin Maurice, but as he will tell you more about himself than you would ever want to hear, I see no need to put you through that twice.”

  “You are very hard on them,” Laura said, though she had to laugh at his wry descriptions.

  “I assumed you wanted me to be honest.”

  “What will they think about our marriage? Will your family dislike it?”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t considered it, really.”

  “Of course not.” Laura suppressed a sigh. “They are bound to be taken aback.”

  “Because of the haste in which we wed? Or the inconvenient fact that you are in love with my cousin?”

  “James!” Laura stiffened. “Surely you cannot think that I would—would—”

  “Cuckold me?” He smiled sardonically. “Of course not. I am not the jealous sort. Though I doubt any man would appreciate knowing another man had kissed his wife, however long ago it happened.”

  “We didn’t!” Laura protested, heat flooding her cheeks. That wasn’t exactly the truth, but those few innocent kisses weren’t the sort of thing James was implying.

  “He never kissed you?” James raised an eyebrow. “What a pity for him.” His eyes flickered to her mouth. “I would not have thought even Graeme was so chaste.”

  “Stop it!” Laura straightened, ignoring her deepening blush, as well as the peculiar dancing nerves in her stomach. “What happened between us is none of your business. And I will not stand for you impugning my reputation—or his.”

  “Indeed, I would never think of such a thing,” James said gravely. “I know that you and Graeme are both far too saintly to have damaged your reputations—or to do so now. But I see little point in pretending that things are other than they are.”

  “I am not in love with your cousin,” Laura told him flatly. “After eleven years, it’s absurd to think that—”

  “Is it? And here I believed you quite constant in your affections.”

  “Of course I care for Graeme,” she snapped. It was astonishing, really, how easily James could goad her, but even seeing the lurking amusement in his eyes as her temper flared, she could not manage to remain cool and collected. “But I’m not a fool.”

  “I never thought you were. Love can make otherwise intelligent people remarkably foolish . . . or so I’ve heard. I will admit that ours is an imperfect situation.” He paused, raising an eyebrow when she snorted indelicately at his words. “Neither of us is our ideal mate, but—”

  “Tell me.” Laura leaned forward a little pugnaciously. “Who is your ideal mate? What paragon of virtue would you have chosen if your options had not been, as you said, so ‘limited’?”

  “Ah. That stung, did it?” His lips twitched. “Sorry. I was . . . a trifle out of sorts, as I remember.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Come, tell me. You say what you think, whatever your other faults. What sort of woman would you actually want to marry?”

  “One who wasn’t so bloody curious, for one thing.”

  His words startled Laura into laughter, her irritation fleeing. James looked at her through his thick dark lashes, his smile wickedly teasing, and Laura’s heart stuttered in her chest. She managed to say, “Obviously. What else?”

  “Very well, if you must. First . . .” He raised his hand, ticking off his answers on his fingers. “You are much too beautiful.”

  She stared. “Your desire was to marry an ugly woman?”

  “Not hideous, you understand. She would have to be pleasant enough in appearance that it wouldn’t be a chore to . . . um . . . look at her daily. But truly stunning women require too much time and effort. It’s tiring to be continually paying compliments and fending off admirers.”

  “Of course it would be.” Laura rolled her eyes. “But I’m not stunning.”

  “There. Already you’re fishing for compliments. You see what I mean about beauties?”

  “I’m not asking for compliments!” Laura protested, flushing.

  “Anyway, you haven’t a say in it. It was my ideal.”

  “Very well. So we have a modicum of looks. What are your other requirements?”

  “She’d have to come from good lineage. The purpose, after all, is to have an heir. So no mad uncles or ancestors who were hanged or burned at the stake.”

  “What about one who lost his head on the block in the Tower of London?”

  “That might be acceptable,” he allowed. “It would mean he was an aristocrat even if a traitor.”

  “Mm. Or unlucky enough to be married to a king.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What next?”

  “Money would not be a necessity, though it would be better if she knew how to deal with it. Good taste, obviously. An ability to converse and to navigate the social waters. Pleasant. Competent to manage a household. Able to handle her social obligations, but not a social butterfly.”

  “Because that would be too tiring, too?”

  He smiled faintly, but shook his head. “No. Because I would hope she would spend much of her time with her children.”

  “Love would play no part in your perfect marriage?”

  “I doubt I could find any woman who could meet that requirement. I am not a man given to tender emotions nor one who inspires them.” He shrugged. “Love has always seemed a foolish thing to me.”

  “More trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Exactly. What I would hope for in a marriage is a mutual understanding, I suppose. A lack of antagonism and drama and obsession. Marriage should be like a business arrangement.”

  Laura sighed. “I pity the poor woman who would be your wife.”

  “Ah, but, you see, you are that woman.”

  Laura had to laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She paused. “Did you really marry me to thwart your family?”

  “I meant it when I said I wished to leave Demosthenes in your care. I have other animals—my horses, the hounds. And over the years I have acquired many objects of beauty. I hate to leave them in the care of my siblings.”

  “But I am practically a stranger to you.”

  “I know that you will be fair. You will be kind. You’ll have an appreciation for the things I’ve acquired. It will all be safe in your hands. And that is what matters.”

  Because of Laura’s frequent stops, they did not arrive at James’s home until almost dusk. As they passed beneath the shadows of the lime trees lining either side of the drive, the dog
suddenly popped up to a sitting position, his ears twitching forward.

  “Yes, Dem, we’re home.”

  Demosthenes pressed against the side of the carriage, sticking his great head out the window. On the other side, Laura unashamedly did the same, though she did not sniff the air, only looked for the first sight of the house.

  “You’ve not seen Grace Hill before?”

  Laura shook her head. “No, we never drove over here the times I visited Lady Mirabelle. Ohh . . .” She let out a sigh of appreciation as the road curved and the house came into view.

  Impressively wide and tall, it was built of sandstone blocks varying in shade from tan to rose to a dusky salmon. Its symmetrical lines and sharply peaked gables were softened by a rounded tower and narrow tall trees that flanked it on either side. A whimsical cupola topped the edifice, its copper roof tarnished to a patina of bluish green. Flowers grew around the house in all directions, buffered by dark green, neatly trimmed hedges.

  “It’s beautiful,” Laura breathed, turning to James.

  “I’m glad you like it.” For once his smile was not colored by irony or condescension. “Wait until you see the gardens in back.”

  Dem was out of the carriage as soon as James opened the door. He released a few thunderous barks and raced across the lawn and back before calming down and returning to trot along beside them.

  Their arrival surprised the footman, and even the imperturbable butler was taken aback when James introduced Laura as his bride. Simpson recovered enough to tell James that the family had gathered for dinner in what he termed “the blue room.” Then he hurried toward the kitchen, Demosthenes trotting after him.

  “You can see where Dem’s heart is,” James commented.

  “The kitchen? I’ve noticed.”

  James offered her his arm. “Come. We might as well get this over with.”

  “Hah. Don’t pretend you’re reluctant.” Laura took his arm. “You’re looking forward to tossing the cat amongst the pigeons.”

  “But of course.” He led her across the marble-floored hall and into the hallway opposite. A pair of doors stood open, revealing the people inside. “Good God,” James murmured. “Patricia and Archie have decided to plague us with their presence.”