Maybe This Time, page 30
The ton was appalled.
Alyssa wished she could seek the old queen’s advice. Obviously, that woman knew how to hold on to her husband. Of course, Alyssa reminded herself, during his marriage, the king had gone quite mad, which was why Prinny had become Prince Regent. Tapping her chin with her fingertip, she decided that perhaps she’d best rely on her own instincts after all.
Lacy burst into Alyssa’s chamber. Alyssa eased the letter into a drawer in her vanity.
“Sorry, milady. His lordship says you’re to come to the library right away. I’m to begin packing your things.”
Alyssa’s heart almost stopped. Kevan had been angry, yes. But angry enough to send her away? Had he already tired of his conquest? “Packing?” she said quietly. “Am I leaving, Lacy?”
The young maid pulled a trunk from the closet and blew back a red wisp of hair that had slipped out from under her cap. “Yes, milady.” She ducked back into the closet and brought out valises and boxes for Alyssa’s bonnets. “His lordship says to have everything ready in an hour.”
Numb, Alyssa made her way down to the library. Her knees threatened to collapse with every step she took. Kevan was banishing her! With a heavy heart, she knocked on the library door.
“Come.”
She entered and closed the door behind her. “Kevan, where am I going?”
“London,” he said, sitting back in the heavy chair behind his big desk.”
“Why?”
“Sit down, Alyssa.”
His expression was benign, just as her father’s had been the morning he’d told her she was to wed Innes. “No, thank you,” she said in a voice sounding more firm than she felt.
Every God-awful event in her life, she’d learned sitting in a library: her mother’s death, her father’s drinking and gaming habits, her forced marriage to Innes, and now Kevan’s banishing her. Until now, she’d been forced to accept whatever horror had befallen her—or she’d swooned. Regrettable, that. But, this time, she vowed she would do neither. This time she would fight. “Why are you sending me away?”
He leaned forward and made a steeple of his hands. “I brought you to Woodwind to give you the chance to accept me as your husband. I’ve been patient. I’ve done all I know to do to make our marriage comfortable for you. Last night, I thought I’d succeeded. This morning, however, I realized I’d failed.”
Her wanton behavior had disgusted him. Heat seared her cheeks. She’d been warned repeatedly by both Meg and Lady Jersey. She knew that as her husband he expected her to restrain her drinking, her passion. Yet, she’d overindulged in both. “I’ve displeased you, so you’re removing me from your presence.” She walked around the corner of his desk, and, at his side, glared down at him. “You knew I was inexperienced. You knew, and still you punish me for it?”
“Going to London has nothing to do with last night, Alyssa. This trip is a direct result of your actions this morning.”
She didn’t believe him. This “trip” was a result of last night as sure as she breathed—and his denial infuriated her. She settled her hands on her hips and thrust out her chin. If she’d failed him in the marriage bed, it was his fault. God knows, she’d been willing. And she’d surely been welcoming. What more did he expect of a virgin? “I won’t go, Kevan.”
He looked up at her, his voice flat. “You will.”
“No, Kevan. I’m your wife. I am not some little dasher that you can sleep with and then cast aside. We wives have more grit. You’ve only to look at Caroline to see that. Our Regent no doubt has contemplated every alternative save murder to rid himself of her. Yet she remains his wife.” So far the Prince hadn’t attempted divorce either. But considering Kevan’s black mood and the deep frown that made a formidable bar of his brows across his forehead, she thought it prudent not to mention that.
“Be ready to leave for London in one hour.”
Alyssa stamped her foot. “Kevan, no!”
He jumped up. “One hour.”
Tears stung her eyes. “So you will send me back to face the gossip-mongers alone.”
“Alone?” Kevan sighed. “No, Alyssa. Though I’ve felt alone many times in your presence—and never more so than in your chamber this very morning—I shall not send you alone. Since the day you first strolled into my life, you have never been alone.”
Before she could absorb the full meaning of this disclosure, his glare grew hard, accusing, and he fired a barrage of questions at her.
“Why did you refuse to acknowledge any change in our relationship this morning? Why do you not trust me? Have I given you cause?”
“No. From the moment I first saw you in the church, I felt some trust in you. And it’s grown, Kevan. I swear it.” Unable to hold his angry gaze, she lowered hers to his boots. She wasn’t to go to London alone. Would he send Lacy with her, then? God, how she wished Meg were here! She forced her gaze up to his chest. “Who is going to London with me?”
“I am.”
Her head snapped up. “You? But I thought—”
“Your thoughts were quite clear.” He lifted her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. His whispered words sounded strangled. “Alyssa, can’t you see? Our marriage would suit if only you and I were involved.”
“What do you mean? You sound as though you’re accusing me of having a lover.”
“No, nothing so simple as another man, wife. What stands between us is worse than a lover. I could fight another man for your heart. I can’t fight your damned pride. Not here.” He raked his hand through his dark hair. “God knows, I’ve tried.”
Without another word, Kevan stormed from the room. Alyssa watched him go, confusion whirling through her. Kevan wanted her, but only if he couldn’t have her? Was that it? She wanted him, but she couldn’t admit that she did, or she’d lose him. He was banishing her to London as punishment for . . . for . . . what? The answer to that remained a mystery to her. Yet in this banishment, he was going with her.
All of this nonsensical mess, and he says her pride is in the way? She let out a joyless laugh. Her pride lay tattered in her bed, lost somewhere between the mead and Kevan’s thieving her affection. And what did he mean about her strolling into his life? Exactly when had that happened? He’d kidnapped her, for pity’s sake.
ALYSSA THOUGHT the six-hour trip to London the longest journey of her life. The dreary weather didn’t help. A steady drizzle pelted against the carriage, making the heavy silence between her and Kevan even more oppressive. She sat in one corner; he, opposite her, in another. They avoided looking at each other—and, when caught sneaking a covert glimpse, he looked and she felt guilty as sin.
Unable to coax herself out of it, she succumbed to what Meg would call a severe case of the blue devils. God, how she missed Meg.
She risked a glance at Kevan. He looked so solemn. That familiar and beloved twinkle was absent from his eyes. Even without it, he looked gorgeous. Unapproachable, but utterly gorgeous. His massive shoulders were well-defined in a blue coat of superfine, and his waistcoat was cut deep. A snowy white, frilled shirt protruded from underneath, and his cravat was still crisp and perfectly tied, despite the long day’s journey.
As she studied him from beneath her lashes, Kevan stretched his legs and crossed his ankles. Fawn colored inexpressibles hugged his muscular thighs, and, gazing down the length of his legs, she saw that, in spite of the rain and mud, his black boots still sported a fine polish.
Her gaze returned to his broad chest. She could almost feel the texture of him hidden beneath his clothes. His bare skin, smooth and rough, hard and soft, all at once; his muscles, rippling, quivering under her hands, dancing to her touch; the silky, fine curls on his chest that tickled her cheeks and taunted her breasts he’d made sensitive. Her heart thudded and that heat Kevan created in her streaked to her center. If she just closed her eyes . . . Yes, she could imagine the taste of his lips, the salty tang of his skin on her tongue . . .
“Alyssa, you’re flushed,” Kevan said. “Are you ill?”
Her thoughts and her body conspired to betray her. Her eyelids snapped open, and knowing her face had flooded with guilt, she met his cool, detached gaze. The encounter left her bereft, and she dropped her gaze to the diamond stick pin in his cravat. “No—no, milord. I am fine.”
She risked a glance and saw him nod, then turn back to look out of the carriage window. With effort, she stifled a sigh and bit back the desire to involve him in conversation. She missed his subtle—and not so subtle—flirting, the camaraderie they’d shared these past months. She missed—him. And, God help her, she didn’t know how to bring him back. Worse, she wasn’t at all certain why he’d left.
Much later, the sound of his voice, rich and deep-timbered, tinged with laughter and desire, penetrated her sleep-fogged mind.
“Alyssa, we’re home. Alyssa?”
She heard him, but she refused to open her eyes. If she did, she knew his voice would again become void of emotion, else angry. She felt too vulnerable to face either of those and London, too.
As she hoped he would, Kevan lifted her. The haven of his strong arms was a lure she couldn’t resist. She snuggled to his chest and laid still until he climbed the stairs inside the house. Then curiosity bested her, and she peeked out.
Down below, surrounded by house, a breath-taking courtyard boasted vivid color and a profusion of blossoms.
He left the viewing-glassed hallway and entered a chamber. The scents of lavender, oil, and leather blended with Kevan’s own, and filled her. He stopped walking. Her arms around his neck, she kneaded his nape and rubbed a curl clinging at his collar between her fingertips. Silently, she willed him to keep holding her.
His chest rumbled against her cheek. “You can stop feigning sleep now.”
Alyssa’s eyes flew open. Her gaze locked with his. “Put me down.”
He ignored her, and sat down in a deep leather chair near the fireplace. Alyssa tried to wiggle from his lap, but with a firm hand he held her on his thighs.
“You might as well sit still, love. Until I permit you to, you won’t move; and until you tell me why you pretended sleep, I won’t permit you anything.”
Alyssa smoothed the deep folds of her velvet traveling gown, certain that her cheeks now matched its deep claret color, for heat surely scorched them. “I don’t know what you—”
He stroked her chin. “Don’t lie to me, Alyssa. You are a Buchannan.”
She lowered her gaze to the white frills on his shirt and debated telling him the truth. She decided she might as well. They were in London now. He’d learn her shameful story anyway. If their marriage was to have a prayer for success, she had to be honest with him—starting now. Her voice shook. “I—I needed to be held.”
“You had only to tell me, love. Feigning sleep is not necessary.”
Blast his gentle voice anyway. And the tenderness in his eyes, too. Why couldn’t he roar, set her blasted ears to ringing? Blasted man.
Her chin quivered, and she bit her lip. Tears slipped to her cheeks. For pity’s sake, why did she insist on humiliating herself by bawling like a babe all over the man? He probably thought he’d married a pump, not a woman. “You were so angry with me.” She paused and gave in to an indelicate sniff. “I didn’t know how to—to—”
“I wasn’t angry, darling,” he said softly. “I was livid.”
Her surprised gaze collided with his and her jaw fell open.
With a fingertip under her chin, Kevan closed her mouth, then dabbed at her eyes with a square of white cambric cloth he’d pulled from his pocket. “The night I spent with you in my arms meant everything to me. And you denied it meant anything to you.”
She’d hurt him, and, retaliating, he’d brought her here to punish her. “I was embarrassed, Kevan,” she whispered. “And I was timid.”
“Of me?”
Now he sounded shocked. And, horror of horrors, her blasted eyes were hot and burning again. Cursing her lack of control, she wedged them shut. She dipped her head and studied her hands, gripped together in her lap. “Yes, of you. But I was more timid of me. When my mother died and my father began drinking, I learned not to need anyone. Last night, I needed you. It frightened me.” She looked up at him, knowing pain and confusion were evident in her eyes. “Needing you made me weak. And, this morning, when you talked of what you’d wanted from me being only physical—”
“Your pride,” he interrupted with a sigh. “Just as I said.” Kevan stroked her cheek with a gentle hand. “Be careful, love. Pride has destroyed many a soul. Don’t let yours become its victim.”
“Don’t you understand, Kevan? The pride you curse is all I have. And I’ve not much of it left—speaking with you as I am, so freely.”
“You are my wife,” he disputed. “You should feel free to tell me anything.”
“Anything? Even matters which might disgust you? Matters that a wife is schooled to constrain?” She cast him a doubtful look. “Is this true, Kevan?”
“I swear it.”
Her teeth worrying her lower lip, she searched his eyes and saw truth. In a shaky voice, she began her sorry tale. “I shall tell you, then. But if I appall you, it is your own fault.”
“You cannot appall me, Alyssa. I’m your husband. Your concerns are mine. Your fears, your troubles, both mine. As is all else of importance to you.”
“I—I was foxed,” she confessed, staring at her hands again. “But—but only a little bit. I knew what I was doing.” The God-awful truth gurgling in her throat spewed forth. “Oh, God, Kevan. You’ve married a . . . a . . . a wanton!”
He pried her hands from her face where they covered her eyes. His voice softened, his gaze grew tender. “I’ve married a passionate woman, for which I am most grateful.”
“You can’t mean that,” she said, choking on a sob. “You’re just being kind, trying to spare my tender—”
“At present, I’m concerned with truth, not your tender feelings.” He narrowed his eyes and his lips hardened in a grim line. “And I don’t appreciate your directing my opinions, milady. Haven’t I told you that before? By God, I know I have.”
“You mean you aren’t displeased by my—my—” Her cheeks grew hot.
“Your passion?” he finished for her, seeming to have no difficulty saying the words that she’d found impossible to utter.
She nodded.
He looked deeply into her eyes. “I am most pleased with you.”
“Really?” Her heart flipped over in her chest.
“I said I was.” He frowned. “Must I repeat myself? And take that off,” he motioned toward her bonnet, “I’m tired of dodging those damned posies.”
She untied the ribbon. He lifted her bonnet and set it on the floor beside the chair. Biting a smile from her lips, she rested her head against his shoulder, and felt his sigh meld with her own. “You do care for me, then, don’t you, Kevan? It is a true affection?”
His lips brushed a tender kiss to her brow, and his arms closed around her. His hand rubbed small emphatic circles of reassurance along her spine. “I do, dear lady.”
“Will you always?” Her heart threatening to leap from her chest, Alyssa opened one eye and held her breath, dreading, yearning for, his answer. “Regardless of what you learn?”
His hand stilled. “I will.”
She raised her head and studied his eyes. They didn’t waiver. “I’ll have your vow, milord.”
He pursed his lips and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingertips. “When we married, I gave you my vows, milady.”
Alyssa screwed up her courage and took in a deep breath. The time for honesty had come. “I must tell you some rather unpleasant things. You must listen, and you must not forget your vows to me. I am your wife, and you must not forget all you have pledged.”
“You’re directing again, Alyssa.”
“No, milord,” she disagreed. “Only reminding.”
“As I recall, you’ve already protected me against a faulty memory. Now, tell me your worries, my dear.”
She licked her lips and took in another quivery breath. “I was sold to Innes, Kevan. My father is—is done up. Gaming at White’s, I suspect, though I was not told so specifically.”
Kevan didn’t utter a sound, just began again rubbing the tiny circles on her back. Why didn’t he react? She’d just admitted that she was impoverished. “Did—did you hear me?”
He replied. “I did.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
Laughter had his shoulder rumbling against her ear, and she reared back. He looked truly baffled. Didn’t he understand what she’d revealed to him? “Blast it all, Kevan. I’ve just told you I’m penniless.”
“Your father is penniless,” he corrected her. “You are not. You are my lady, Alyssa. Did I not salute you with the mead at Woodwind?”
“You did, but—”
“Have I not married you?” he interrupted. “Made vows to you?”
“You have, Kevan, but—”
He continued on. “I’m one of the wealthiest men in England, Alyssa Buchannan. Which means that you are far from penniless. In fact, my dear, you are one of England’s wealthiest ladies.”
Alyssa closed her eyes, prayed for patience, then again looked at her husband. “Are you addlepated, Kevan Buchannan? I’ve just told you that my father sold me for enough blunt to avoid debtor’s prison. Did you understand me?”
“I am not addlepated, love, and, of course, I understood you. Your disclosure required no interpretation on my part. You, however, have not yet understood. Your father’s finances are of no consequence.”
