A Marriage Of Rogues. Margaret Moore
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Green to be married that day, although Dev was fairly certain theirs was the only marriage where the bride had proposed to the groom.
He suspected more than one of the young couples had come to Gretna Green to marry over their families’ objections, too. One or two—like the middle-aged couple near the door—seemed oblivious of anything except each other.
He, too, was very aware of his wife, but for a different reason. Her conduct in the bedroom had not been at all what he’d expected. Based on the kiss they’d shared, he’d believed she felt some degree of desire for him, and when they were alone, he’d done everything he could short of taking her into his arms to encourage her to make the first move toward intimacy. Instead she’d acted as if he were some kind of barbarian who’d abducted a virtuous maiden with the sole intent of ravishing her.
“The wife’s outdone herself for you!” the boisterous innkeeper, who was as bald as an egg, continued. “A fine savory beef stew, we have, and the best bread to be found between Liverpool and Glasgow, if I do say so! And cake, o’ course. We’ve got some cake. Wouldn’t be a proper wedding dinner without cake!”
Dev nodded his appreciation as he waited for Lady Theodora to take her seat, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever.
Perhaps the passion and desire in Lady Theodora’s kiss had been feigned, intended only to get him in the marital noose. Once she’d succeeded, she would do only what was necessary in the bedroom, with as much joy and delight as shoveling out a stable.
He had seen firsthand what happened when desire died, and he had no wish to repeat his mother’s sad existence.
And could a marriage based on the groom’s winning some games of chance, his subsequent guilt and remorse, his pity and lust for the bride, really stand a chance of succeeding?
He should suggest they end this charade of a marriage right now, before it was time to retire. If they didn’t make love, his solicitor could seek an annulment and likely get it.
He would forgive her father’s debts and she would be free to go her own way. He would be free, too, as he’d been before. Alone and lonely, but free.
The innkeeper and his wife appeared bearing two steaming bowls of stew, a basket of warm bread and a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. For the next little while and although he didn’t have much of an appetite, he tried to eat while ignoring everyone else in the taproom.
Lady Theodora, on the other hand, ate like one who had been starving, albeit with good table manners.
Perhaps she hadn’t had much to eat in the past several days, thanks to her father’s gambling losses. Pity, however, was no better a basis for marriage than lust or guilt.
“And now the cake!”
They both turned to see the grinning innkeeper carrying a platter toward them, followed by an equally plump and jolly older woman who must be his wife.
“Can’t be a proper wedding dinner without the cake!” the innkeeper repeated as he set down the platter bearing two slices of what appeared to be fruitcake. Petrified, dried fruitcake.
Dev struggled to keep his expression placid. “Alas, I’m unable to contemplate another morsel after that excellent dinner.”
“Oh, surely you can manage a bite!” the innkeeper’s wife insisted. “Just a wee one.”
Feeling like a minor martyr, Dev picked up the cake and took a bite. Sawdust would have tasted better. He managed to swallow, then immediately reached for his wine.
“Good, eh?” the innkeeper suggested.
“Never tasted anything quite like it,” he replied honestly.
“Now you, my lady,” the innkeeper’s wife prompted.
He must not have been as subtle as he thought, for his bride quickly and emphatically shook her head. “I’m sorry. I fear I really couldn’t eat another bite.”
When both the innkeeper and his wife looked about to insist, Dev rose. “It’s time my wife and I retired,” he said in a way that would brook no protest. “Please call us first thing in the morning. We want to be on our way as soon as possible.”
The innkeeper and his wife looked disappointed, until the wife said, “I’ll wrap a piece up for you to take with you. For your first baby’s christening.”
At the mention of children, Dev glanced at Lady Theodora. Her cheeks had turned a light shade of pink and—somewhat surprisingly—her smile appeared genuine when she said, “Thank you.”
“We’ll call you just after dawn, sir.”
“Good,” Dev said, holding out his hand to his wife.
Theodora ignored the gesture, instead leading the way up the stairs.
Just as well. Her touch had a most disturbing effect upon him and should he require witnesses for an annulment, they could honestly say there was a distinct lack of affection between Sir Develin Dundrake and his bride.
* * *
When they reached the bedroom now lit by candles on the washstand and bedside table, Dev faced Theodora and said, “If you’d rather not share my bed tonight, you need not. I can find accommodation elsewhere.”
Her eyes widened and her hand went to her cheek as if he’d hit her. “You don’t want to make love with me?” she asked in a soft, sad whisper.
He thought she’d be relieved by his offer, yet she was undeniably upset. And surprisingly vulnerable.
Where had that brazen, resolute and bold Lady Theodora gone?
However she looked at him, he had to resist both her appeal and his baser urges. He had to think, not feel, if he was to be master of the situation.
Yet despite his own resolve, Dev simply couldn’t tell her that he’d reconsidered their arrangement and was thinking of annulling the marriage. “I thought you might be too tired. It’s been a long day and we have another journey tomorrow,” he said instead.
“I slept in the carriage and so did you,” she noted, splaying her hands on his chest, her eyes full of longing.
This was the reaction he’d expected before. What had changed? Why was she so different now?
Until you know, it would be better to resist the urges of your body, his mind declared.
Yet she cannot be insincere in her desire, his heart replied. Her eyes aren’t lying. And you know what it is to long for affection. For love.
“I thought you enjoyed the pleasures of the bedroom,” she whispered, winding her arms about his neck. She raised herself on her toes so her lips were less than an inch from his. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Where did you hear such things?”
“London. You are quite well-known, you know.”
“Gossip. Rumors,” he replied, his breathing quickening, his yearning increasing even as he fought to restrain it.
“Were they lies? Do you not enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom?”
He lost the battle to resist. “I did. I do. I will,” he murmured before he embraced her and captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.
* * *
As Sir Develin held her close and kissed her, Thea’s doubt and dread ebbed away. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She could sense it, feel it, was certain of it. It was like a thick, soft rope between them, drawing them closer and binding them. She’d been afraid her bashfulness had caused him to reconsider and regretted acting like a naive girl. But he was proving her fears groundless. However he had behaved during the meal, he wasn’t sorry he had married her. She was Sir Develin Dundrake’s bride, and this was their wedding night.
Tonight she would have no fear, no shame, no embarrassment, no restraint. She would