Two Wrongs Make a Marriage. Christine Merrill
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another way.’
‘Anything.’ She’d spoken too quickly. This was a man willing to steal from innkeepers, trick her into wedding him and fake his own death. He had made no mention of seeking a marriage in name only, at any time in his plans. There was no telling what scheme he intended now. ‘Anything within reason,’ she amended.
‘I do not know how reasonable my plans are,’ he admitted. ‘But recent actions proved that we are both willing to consider unreasonable options to gain success. The kidnapping was an admirable twist,’ he added, nodding with approval.
‘Thank you.’ She frowned. ‘I did not think it would work.’
‘A more timid tactic might not have got me. And you were not the most convincing actress I have seen. But the combination of beauty and risk was irresistible.’ He paused dramatically. ‘As I suppose my performance was to you.’
Silently, she cursed all actors and their perpetual need for approval. ‘Actually, it was your relationship to de Warde that attracted me. Any man would have done.’
‘I see.’ She watched as his excessive pride deflated. Then he rallied. ‘It makes me wonder what we might achieve by working together against a common enemy. There is more to Spayne’s story than I have told you. And you are still keeping secrets as well.’
‘I?’ She tried to look guileless.
‘You,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘And why did I not see it before? But it is clear that Henry de Warde is at the crux of both troubles.’
‘What do you think you can do about him?’ It was unlikely that the man before her had a simple solution to her problem, but a forlorn hope was better than no chance at all.
‘I will not appeal to his better nature, that’s for certain. I doubt he has one. If we are to get anywhere with the man, we must do it in the same way he’s got one over on us, using base trickery, lies and chicanery.’ He walked past her to the bed, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘But the details can wait until after we have spoken to Spayne. If we must travel tomorrow, an early night is in order.’ He stretched out upon the mattress and patted the space at his side.
‘Certainly not,’ she said. Then she remembered what her mother had said about the transparency of nightwear and did her best to move out of the firelight.
He smiled invitingly and his voice, though slurred, was still as soothing as warm honey. ‘You were not so ungenerous this morning.’
‘That was when you were Kenton.’
‘And you mean to hold out for nothing less than a viscount.’ He sighed. ‘My loss, I suppose. But you are wise to have standards.’ He picked up the pillow she had thrown and tossed it back to her. ‘I suggest you remove yourself from the vicinity of my bed, before I forget what you have done to me and take advantage.’
‘And where am I supposed to sleep?’
‘The house is large. Call a servant. They will find you a place.’
‘They will know that we did not …’
‘Then take the couch on the other side of the room.’
She glared at him. ‘A true gentleman would leave me the bed.’
‘As we have established, I am not a gentleman,’ he said with a smile. ‘But at least I have my wits. I have survived on those and little else for thirty years. If you wish me to apply it to this situation, I will need to be well rested. Good night, my dear.’ And with that, he rolled so that his back was to her and closed his eyes.
Chapter Four
In the company of her new husband, the imposter Jack Briggs, the ride to Essex was proving intolerable. Instead of the sweet afterglow of a honeymoon, the day after Thea’s marriage was rather like waking with a bad head from too much wine. Her brain ached from trying to comprehend what had happened to her. Her body was stiff and sore from a night spent without sleep on the hard couch in her husband’s room, muscles rigid and teeth clenched with anger and frustration. The Kenton carriage was well sprung and roomy, but she might as well have been travelling in an open dog cart for all the comfort it gained her.
It was precisely the condition that the false Lord Kenton should have been experiencing. He had snored his way through the night, wrapped in a cloud of cheap spirits and the monogrammed linens of one of the finest families in England. Instead of waking the worse for drink and racked with guilt at how he had treated Thea and her family, the morning found him happy, relaxed and quite pleased with the way the day was going. When she had pressed him for an explanation, he had been unwilling to share the reason for his good mood. He acted as if lying about his life and identity, marrying some unsuspecting girl and being sorely disappointed in the result was an activity that happened every day.
Perhaps, to him, it did. The idea that she might be one of a string of similar Lady Kentons was more than disturbing. He did not seem the sort to travel from town to town, ruining innocents and stealing fortunes. But until last night, she’d have sworn that such a thing as had already happened was quite impossible. How could she be sure?
And he was whistling. Thea could not identify the tune. But she suspected, judging by the look in his eyes, that the lyrics were inappropriate for female ears.
She glared at him. ‘Stop that incessant noise.’
Jack stared back at her, all innocence. The whistle paused. ‘You do not like music?’
‘That is not music. It is precisely the opposite. If you had any manners …’
‘And the kind of breeding and education …’ he said, in a pompous tone, waving a hand. ‘We have already established that I do not. You were the one who wished to marry me. Now you must learn to make do.’ He went back to whistling.
‘It is vulgar,’ she said with desperation.
‘And so am I.’ His eyes were narrowed, as though it had been possible to hurt him with a statement of truth.
‘I have no doubt that you are vulgar, after your comments of the previous evening. But it is all the more reason for you to stop. You should aspire to be something better than you are.’
‘As you do?’ He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for an answer. His cheerful manner disappeared. He was looking at her, for all the world, as though he were the one who had been wronged by her scheming.
‘Is this some veiled reference to my willingness to—’ her mouth puckered in revulsion as she parroted his words back to him ‘—hold out for a man of sufficient rank?’ It was as if he thought her no better than a whore for marrying him. ‘There is nothing wrong with seeking a decent future through marriage.’
‘For a woman, perhaps,’ he said.
‘You were quick enough to do it yourself.’
‘I was doing it in service to another,’ he said firmly.
As was she. Her family would have seen the benefit, had her plan worked as expected. But his comment rankled. ‘You are little better than a servant to Spayne, then? If so, I order you to stop whistling.’
‘I may be a servant to Spayne. But to you?’ He grinned. ‘I am a husband. And humble though I might be, it is not your place to command anything of me. As I remember, it was you who promised to obey.’
‘But not to obey you. I said the words when I thought you were Kenton. I promised loyalty to a man who does not exist.’
‘The majority of women who marry would say the same thing. I fail to see why I owe an alteration of my behaviour to you, if you were not aware of the fact that marriage changes everything between us. Now hush, woman, and cease your nagging. I am trying to think.’ He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes with a blissful smile upon his