by Anne Gracie
“Baggage!” And he did it again.
A short time later the carriage drew to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Maddy asked. “Where are we?”
“No questions, prisoner,” he told her. “Just close your eyes.” He waited for Hawkins, the coachman, to carry out the instructions Nash had given him earlier. After a few minutes, Hawkins opened the carriage door. Nash got out of the carriage, and under the guise of lifting Maddy down, swept her into his arms.
“Thank you, Hawkins, that will be all,” Nash said, stepping over the threshold through the open door, and kicking it shut behind him. He kissed Maddy and lowered her to the floor. “You may open them now.”
“Ohh,” she said on a long note of wonder as she looked around the cottage. “How . . . who?”
“Nell and Tibby and Ayisha and Lizzie and Aunt Maude—”
“Your aunt?” Maddy’s jaw dropped. “I can’t work her out. One minute she despises me, and the next thing . . .” She shook her head.
He laughed. “That’s Aunt Maude. Loves to keep us all guessing. She masterminded this. Demanded to know where I was taking you for your wedding night and when I told her here, she was appalled. Ayisha suggested the changes—she and Rafe have a cottage retreat, apparently—but Nell and Aunt Maude ran the operation. And this is the result.”
“I can barely recognize the place,” Maddy breathed. “Look at these beautiful rugs. You always said it needed rugs.” She kicked off her slippers, peeled off her stockings, and walked on the thick, deep, exotic Turkish rugs that covered the entire floor. “So soft . . .” She wiggled her toes in the deep pile.
Nash eyed her small pink toes and suppressed a harsh groan. He wanted her spread out bare on those thick, soft rugs. He wanted to taste those toes, and then work his way up, till his mouth found the core of salt-dark honey at her center . . . Heat slammed through him at the thought. He rammed it under control. Civilized, he told himself. On one’s wedding night, one should approach one’s bride with care and circumspection. And a certain degree of politesse.
A fire burned brightly, and freshly lit candles were scattered around the room, bathing everything in a soft light. Like the night they’d first made love, when she’d bared her silken beauty to his gaze and taken him into herself . . .
The worn, scrubbed table was covered with a richly embroidered tablecloth and was laid for two. An enormous hamper of food stood on a bench nearby, along with a crate of champagne and a pitcher of milk . . .
“Anything and everything one could desire,” Maddy exclaimed, peeping into the hamper. “We could be here for days and not go hungry.”
Nash nodded. He was starved, aching and ravenous, but not for anything in the hamper.
“And look at the bed.” Maddy hurried over to it. “What a beautiful cover.”
Only the faded red curtains were the same. Nash was fond of those curtains and had told his aunt not to touch them. But everything else was new. Fine white cotton sheets had replaced the threadbare old ones, and soft wool blankets and an eider-down quilt lay on top.
Maddy ran her hands over the quilt and picked up a pillow, plumped it, and pressed her cheek against it. “Goose feather, Nash, come and feel,” she invited. She sat on the bed and gasped. “They’ve replaced my straw mattress with a feather one. Nash you must feel this.”
Her eyes met his. Her gaze slowly raked him from head to toe, lingering on the area that ached and throbbed in torment. Her eyes darkened and a smile as old as Eve teased her lips. “Yes, Nash, come and feel,” she murmured. She wriggled back in sensuous pleasure and patted the bed invitingly.
Watching the feather-soft quilt slide beneath her bare calves, Nash cast any notions of control to the wind. In two strides, he crossed the room and launched himself onto the bed beside her.
With a low growl, he pushed her skirts up past her hips in a foam of lace and petticoats. And stared. She was bare to the waist, no drawers, just long, slender legs ending in a wine-colored triangle of soft curls.
His manhood surged, rock hard. Her thighs parted and she reached eagerly for him, fumbling at the fall of his breeches to release him, and then he was braced between her thighs, parting her gently and finding her ready, more than ready. He sank into her heated depths with a groan of satisfaction. She arched beneath him, urging him on with little cries and moans, and he plunged again and again, faster and faster, until with a roar of satisfaction, he climaxed.
Afterward, lightheaded and loose, he held her as his breathing slowly returned to normal. The sweat dried on his skin and the bliss evaporated with it.
Shame prickled his conscience. He’d just taken his new bride with all the greedy lack of finesse of a boy with his first woman, not even taking the time to undress or caress her, just dragging her skirts up and burying himself in her without a care for her pleasure or dignity. As if she were a prostitute.
Beside him, Maddy sat up and began straightening her clothes.
“I’m sorr—” he began.
“That,” she said, “was a lovely appetizer.” She grinned and kissed him. “I’m looking forward to the main course—and pudding—but first you must help me out of this dress. It’s too pretty to have you ruin it the way you’ve ruined so many of my old nightgowns.” She gave him a mischievous glance. “That’s why I didn’t wear any drawers, either. You should see my new underclothes, they’re so beautiful I don’t dare wear them for fear of what you might do to them.”
Nash blinked. “You mean you didn’t mind what I just did?”
She laughed. “I love what you just did, Nash, and I love you.”
He froze. “What did you say.”
She bit her lip as she realized what she’d just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—it just slipped out. It’s just that I’m so happy, and—”
“You didn’t mean it?”
“Oh, I meant it.” She gave him a clear look. “I just didn’t mean it to slip out. I know you don’t want our marriage to be complicated by things such as love and passion, and I did try, really I did. But I do love you. With all my heart”—she kissed him—“and body”—she kissed him again—“and soul.” She kissed him for the third time, like a holy vow.
He lay still, staring up at her, frozen.
She sighed. “You’ll just have to get used to it. It’s going to keep slipping out, because I’m so full of love for you it keeps bubbling up like a spring.”
He stared at her, agonized, his throat too thick to speak, unable to think of a thing to say. She loved him.
She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and added, “Don’t look so appalled; you don’t need to say anything. I know how you feel. I don’t expect anything else from you. As long as you’re faithful, and desire my body, I’ll be happy.” But the glow in her clear topaz eyes had dulled, and the smile wore an edge of wistfulness.
She slipped off the bed and padded across the floor, bare-foot, her hair messy and falling down her back in tumbled curls, her bridal dress crushed. In a bright voice she said, “Now, come and open one of these bottles for me. I want some champagne. I was too nervous to eat or drink anything before the wedding, and now I find I’m ravenous.”
So beautiful and generous, giving him everything, asking for nothing. She shamed him with her courage.
“No,” he croaked.
She turned, puzzled. “You won’t open the champagne for me?”
“No,” he croaked again. It wasn’t what he meant but his throat seemed clogged.
She shrugged. “Then I’ll open it myself.” She picked up a bottle and began to wrestle with the cork.
“No, you don’t know how I feel.” Nash forced out the words.
Holding the bottle against her, she swiveled slowly to face him. And waited, saying nothing.
“I was wrong,” he said. “I didn’t . . . understand.” He stared at her, willing her to understand what he was trying to tell her. But she waited, frozen and silent, clutching the champagne bottle against her like a
baby.
He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, looked her in the eye, and said, “I love you, Maddy.”
For an endless moment all he could hear was the sound of the fire crackling and hissing in the grate. An owl hooted on the wind, and then she whispered, “You love me?”
He nodded. “I love you.” It was getting easier to say it now it was out. “I love you, Madeleine Renfrew, wholly and completely. With all my heart. And body. And probably soul, though I don’t know so much about that.”
With shaking hands, she put the champagne bottle down on the table. “You really love me?”
“I do. I have for the longest time. I was just too much of a coward to say it.” He opened his arms and she flew into them.
“It’s why I wanted to spend our wedding night here,” he told her after they’d made love for a second time, again with her dress rucked up around her waist. “I fell in love with you in this cottage, in this bed. And that day I left you, I hadn’t gone more than a few miles when I knew I couldn’t leave you. I thought I could marry you and still keep it to myself . . .”
“And not risk exposing yourself to what your father suffered?” she said.
He nodded, amazed and grateful for her understanding. “The risk is worth it—”
“There is no risk,” she corrected him. “We’re not like your parents. Just have faith.” She kissed him. “And open the champagne.”
He laughed. “Better than champagne, I have a pot of your honey here.”
“Honey? But—”
“I’ve had plans for this honey for the longest time. Only first, you really do need to take off that dress . . .”
Twenty-four
Make an entrance, Grand-mère always said. In the hallway that led to the stairs, Maddy took a deep breath. Her first public test as Nash’s wife.
The ball at Alverleigh House, the earl’s residence in Mayfair, had not yet commenced, but already it was the talk of the season. The cream of London society would be here tonight—European society if you counted the ambassdors—every one of them curious to meet—and judge—the nobody that Nash Renfrew had unaccountably married. And, of course, to meet the Grand Duchess Anna Petrovna—sister, daughter, and aunt of Czars.
Maddy didn’t just have butterflies in her stomach, they were dragonflies . . . An entire flock, dipping and buzzing.
Lady Gosforth appeared at her elbow, superbly gowned in a ball gown of puce and gold lace. “Nervous?”
Maddy swallowed. “A little.”
Lady Gosforth raised her lorgnette and gave Maddy a sweeping examination. The effect was enhanced by the enormous, magnificently embroidered turban from which sprouted at least a dozen puce and gold plumes. She had the height—and the nose—to carry it off.
Maddy waited calmly for the scrutiny to end. She knew now that much of Lady Gosforth’s imperious manner was bluff. Still, in the old woman’s eyes Maddy was yet to prove herself a worthy wife for Nash.
Lady Gosforth gave a brisk nod. “Very nice, my dear. That old gold color is perfect on you. And that topaz set both complements it and matches your eyes.” She peered through her lorgnette at Maddy’s necklace and frowned. “Most unusual. Those gold designs look like some kind of insect.”
Maddy touched her necklace and smiled. “Yes, they’re bees. I’m very fond of bees.” Nash had given Maddy the topaz necklace, earrings, and bracelet set that morning. He’d had it especially made for her.
Lady Gosforth blinked. “Good God, are you? How very odd. Never mind, it looks quite pretty anyway. And setting your own style is to be admired.”
Downstairs, people were beginning to gather. Maddy’s palms felt damp. She smoothed her long white gloves over them. So far there were just the close friends and relatives who’d dined with them before the ball, Nash’s friends. Her friends, too, now.
“There will be quite a few noses out of joint tonight, so be on your guard.”
Maddy nodded. She knew. All the girls Lady Gosforth had picked out for Nash, for a start. And all those who resented an outsider.
“Don’t look so worried; it’s a game,” Lady Gosforth told her. “One with serious consequences, but a game, nevertheless.” She rapped Maddy’s arm with her fan. “Parry, thrust, and smile. Win and win gracefully, but if you can’t, don’t let them draw blood.”
Maddy grimaced. “Easier said than done.”
“Most things worth doing are,” said the elderly lady loftily. “Not for nothing is it called polite society. But it’s like the old maps: here be dragons.”
They reached the landing at the top of the grand staircase. From here, Maddy would descend the stairs alone, all eyes on her. She paused, willing the dragonflies to settle.
“Screw your courage to the sticking place and you’ll not fail,” Lady Gosforth told her.
“You’re quoting Macbeth at me? Lady Macbeth?” Maddy asked with a choked laugh. “Are you perhaps suggesting I follow her example and murder my husband’s more . . . inconvenient guests?”
Lady Gosforth gave a crack of laughter. “That’s the ticket, show a bit of pepper! You’ll do, my dear, you’ll do.” She gave her a little push. “Down you go. And don’t let ’em see your nerves.”
It might have been her grandmother speaking. Maddy took a deep breath and began the long descent down the staircase, trying to appear unaware of the many eyes on her.
This is it, Grand-mère. Wish me luck.
An hour later, the dragonflies had settled. Somewhat. Maddy stood with Nash, Marcus, and Aunt Maude at the entrance to the ballroom, greeting each guest as they arrived, being introduced as Nash’s bride.
Lady Gosforth had given Maddy a guest list several days before, saying Maddy should commit to memory some of the more exalted names. She’d had made some notes against a few of them. Maddy was very grateful for it.
Better still, Nash murmured wicked little snippets about each couple as they arrived, with the result that Maddy forgot to be nervous and was able to curtsy and greet the guests in a more natural manner.
Everyone smiled, everyone was gracious. Still, you never knew when the sting was going to come. Here be dragons.
“Mrs. Renfrew, you are originally from Leicestershire, I’m told.” A thin, elegant blonde in bronze silk and diamonds smiled warmly at her.
Maddy smiled warmly back. “That’s correct, Lady Mannering.”
“And yet nobody in Leicestershire has ever heard of you,” the woman said, her smile thinning to a faint sneer. “Nobody. At. All.” Her friends tittered, exchanging sly glances as they waited for Maddy’s defense.
But Maddy had grown up in a country where the English and aristocrats were universally despised. If she could survive the open hostility of French peasants, she could survive the silken insults of an inadequately dressed skinny blonde. Parry, thrust, and smile.
“No doubt because when I was a child, my mother and I moved to France,” Maddy responded with a smooth smile. “I only recently returned to England, and my father had a serious hunting accident shortly afterward, so of course we did no entertaining and attended none of the local gatherings. And then we were in mourning . . . Have you been to France, Lady Mannering?”
“No.” Lady Mannering bared her teeth and moved sinuously off.
“Nicely handled,” Lady Gosforth murmured in her ear. “A nasty piece of work, that one. Widow. Had her eye on Nash. You’re doing very well.”
But Lady Mannering was only the first of many.
“One hears Woodford House has been let to tenants,” the Honorable Mrs. Lethbridge said, with a cold smile that told Maddy she’d also heard about Papa’s debts.
“Indeed it has,” Maddy responded affably. “One would not wish to leave the house uncared for and unoccupied while the family is in Russia, would one? And one is so glad to have found such excellent tenants.”
It was a game. And she was far from alone. Nash never moved far from her side, trusting her to manage, yet there, she knew, to step in, if necess
ary. He had the knack of making the kind of light, charming comment that defused tension. She resolved to acquire it.
On Maddy’s other side stood Lady Gosforth, declaring her acceptance of Maddy by her manner and stance, if not the actual words. Even the earl, who never said much, showed his support of her in small, significant ways.
The message was clear: Nash’s family and friends supported this marriage. And his wife.
Many people were genuinely welcoming. Maddy curtsied to an elderly duke and duchess, who nodded graciously at Maddy, congratulated Nash on his marriage, invited Lady Gosforth to call with her niece next week, and tottered away.
Already the ball was declared a sad crush, by which Maddy gathered it was a huge success.
Maddy had shown she could cope with the cut and thrust of sophisticated conversation. There was only one more hurdle: the Russian grand duchess. Once she’d arrived and Maddy was introduced, Maddy could leave her post and dance. She was looking forward to it so much. She and Nash had practiced every day, and for dancing she was ready, more than ready.
“Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anna Petrovna Romanova, Grand Duchess of Russia.” The name boomed out over the crowded ballroom
A hush fell over the room. Everyone turned toward the entrance. A tiny, magnificently robed old lady moved slowly forward, leaning on an ivory cane. She was flanked by half a dozen handsome escorts in glittering military uniforms and followed a small bevy of Russian ladies, clutching shawls and other necessities.
Nash, smiling, bowed deeply and said formally in English, “Welcome, Your Highness, to England.” He added in French, “I hope your voyage from St. Petersburg was swift, smooth, and pleasant.”
Everyone craned forward to hear.
The grand duchess gave a rusty laugh. “It was atrocious, dear boy. Luckily I am never seasick.”
Returning to English, Nash introduced his brother and his aunt, and the grand old lady greeted them, then switched to French to comment on the brothers’ likeness, the general handsomeness of the earl, and the elegance of his aunt.