Page 3 of Escape of the Bridegroom (Escape #2)

A idan, who was good -natured at heart, had never before maintained this level of fury for so long. Part of it was certainly aimed at Patrick for getting him into this mess, but most of it was reserved for Romilly.

Marrying for money had a long and shameful tradition amongst the aristocracy. And on his more realistic days, Aidan was aware it was what he would have to do one day. One distant day, not now, not by trickery, and not when he had no say in his choice of bride.

None of his anger was for her . He barely considered her at all. His one glimpse of her had shown him a tall, slender, young woman in a plain blue dress, with a plain, severe face. Not even the pretty one Patrick had told him about. But in truth, he hardly noticed her features, for he didn’t care what she looked like. He had no intention of spending any time with her before he absolutely had to.

So, with his brother’s debts of honour fully paid and a healthy two thousand pounds sitting in his bank, he stalked into Romilly’s house to marry Romilly’s daughter. He wore the same clothes as he had on his previous visit and acknowledged the others in the room with the stiffest of bows—Romilly himself, an aunt, an uncle, an anaemic clergyman with stooped shoulders, and the beautiful sister once pursued by Patrick with dishonourable intent.

The aunt chattered in an excited sort of a way and snivelled when Romilly strode to meet the bride, presumably, at the drawing room door.

Aidan stared straight ahead. The clergyman stepped in front of him and Romilly, still beaming—how Aidan longed to smack that smile off his smug lips—placed the bride’s trembling hand on his.

Savagely, Aidan wondered if she shook with excitement at reaching the dizzying rank of baroness, or with fear of placing herself in the power of an angry and resentful husband. His lips curled into a sneer, and he actually cast her a curious glance.

Neither excitement nor fear, then. Tears stood out in her eyes. One even trembled on a long, dark eyelash.

Shocked, he turned his attention to the clergyman, who had begun the words of the ceremony that would bind him for life to this weeping girl. For the first time, he considered her part in this. She knew him no more than he knew her. Who or what was she was so sad to be leaving behind?

Well, she should have thought of that before. With a resurgence of anger, his brief instant of concern evaporated. If he had sold himself for the price of his brother’s debts, she had sold herself to be a peeress. Her tears merely hardened his resolve to be done with this, and with her, as quickly as possible.

He uttered the responses required tonelessly. So did she. He placed the plain gold ring on her finger. At least she had a lady’s hands, soft and slender, but then she must have grown up considerably more pampered than he.

The clergyman’s voice cracked slightly as he pronounced them man and wife, and then he turned away to allow Romilly and his family to embrace the bride.

Aidan found his hand pumped by the uncle and Romilly himself.

The beautiful sister gave him her hand most prettily. “Congratulations, my lord. We are all disappointed not to see Mr. Wolf by your side this morning.”

“He is at Wolverton Hall, where we shall repair as soon as Lady Wolf is ready.”

“I’m ready now,” said the new Lady Wolf flatly. “My bag is already packed. My family will see the rest of my things sent on.”

“Of course we shall, dearest,” the aunt promised. “But you must eat first!”

“Sadly, we have not the time if we are to reach Wolverton Hall by nightfall,” said Aidan. “The post-chaise will be here directly.”

That, he was glad to see, caused a few smiles to wobble, and cast something of a blight over their triumph. It even caused Romilly to take him aside with the first hint of anxiety he had ever betrayed.

“You will remember our agreement,” Romilly said. “Your part of the bargain does not end with the wedding.”

“I am quite as aware as you of our agreement,” Aidan said, and was delighted to see the unease cross his father-in-law’s face. “And like you, I shall keep it to the letter.”

The drawing room door opened, and an elderly butler announced that a post-chaise and four was at the front door for Lord and Lady Wolf.

To Aidan’s surprise, his bride sailed straight out of the door without so much as a glance at any of her family. Aidan spared them a distant bow and a “Good morning,” and then he followed his wife out of the house and into the carriage where she already sat, upright and silent. She did not wave to her rather desperately smiling family at the door.

Either she now considered herself far above them. Or she was no happier about the marriage than he was. Which was at least interesting.

And at least she wasn’t crying.

The postilions set the horses in motion. The outriders kept pace. Aidan knew a brief urge to swap with one of them rather than spend hours alone with the wife he did not want.

He regarded her broodingly from the back-facing seat while she gazed blindly out of the window. She was not actually plain, he discovered with some surprise. Although her features were a little sharp, the severity he had vaguely noticed in her face was softened by a more forgiving hairstyle and the unexpectedly dashing bonnet perched upon her curls. But her expression was still rigid, like her thin, upright body.

She shifted restlessly. “How long is the journey, my lord?”

“With decent horses, about eight hours or so. Don’t feel obliged to stay awake and make conversation with me.”

“I don’t. But I would like to know what is ahead of me.”

“A draughty old house in need of repair,” he said with some satisfaction.

“You needn’t labour the point sir. Let us take it as read that you would not have married me were you not in dire financial straits. Who will I find there, and what do you expect of me?”

“I expect nothing of you,” he said at once. “We have few servants. My brother is currently at home. I believe you are acquainted with him.”

“I met him twice when he called for Miranda. And your expectations?”

He caught her quick, surreptitious glance and held it with malicious amusement. “You refer to the marriage bed?”

Her face flamed. “I do not.”

He spoke through her. “You need have no fears on that score. Or at least not yet. I already have what I require of you. At some point, I shall need an heir, but happily, that should not be urgent for several years.”

He was aware as he said the words, that they were unnecessarily offensive, and yet he could not stop them. He didn’t even want to, for he was still angry. But her glance of contempt took him by surprise.

“I believe a gentleman would take that as read, too.”

A flash of shame heated his face, though he retorted. “I thought you wished to know what was ahead of you. The answer, of course, is whatever you wish. You hold the purse strings and you are mistress of Wolverton Hall. You are at liberty to arrange things however you wish. I ask only that you leave my own private rooms undisturbed without consulting me.”

“I shall disturb you as little as possible.”

The words might have been meek, but he was not deaf to the fervour of her tone. His lips twitched without his permission, but at least she did not appear to notice. Her attention was once more on the window view.

“Is your household aware of our approach?” she asked with studied indifference.

“My letter to that effect should have reached them yesterday. Your apartments should be ready to receive you.”

She nodded once and closed her eyes.

He felt dismissed, which for some reason did not please him. He had been assuming the high ground in this disastrous marriage, but it struck him that he was losing it by giving in to temper. He had made his bed and had best learn to lie in it.

As the hours and the miles flew past, mostly in silence as she kept her eyes closed, his natural optimism began at last to reassert itself.

Patrick’s debt was paid and the price of it should at least have taught him a lesson. Aidan had two thousand pounds to spend on what was most necessary.

Romilly had reminded him of their agreement. There was no need, but Aidan did not consider there was any rush in such matters. He had the money and the wife, and now he was quite prepared to stretch as far as he could the rest of the agreement he had been tricked into signing. It would serve Romilly right.

The spring was quite time enough to introduce the new Lady Wolf and her sister to society. Until then, he saw no need to change his life one jot. And even in the spring, he would do the bare minimum. After all, by marrying her, he had already given his best.

***

“Y OU MUST TELL ME,” he said as the horses were changed for the third time, “when you wish to stop for refreshment.”

“Perhaps at the next change,” she said, and closed her eyes once more.

Aidan was relieved. He should not have dismissed the wedding breakfast out of hand although it had given him a certain amount of satisfaction at the time, for by now his stomach was rumbling.

At the next inn, they alighted while the horses were changed. They were served a meal in the common room. Aidan ate heartily. His wife merely picked at her plate.

“Not what you’re used to?” he asked with no pretence at sympathy.

“I am not hungry. Merely thirsty.”

Ten minutes later, they were back in the carriage and speeding on to Wolverton Hall. Aidan longed for the journey to end. He wanted to be away from his wife. She clearly wanted to be away from him.

But their arrival turned out to be even worse. The entire household had considered it appropriate to turn out to welcome his bride as mistress, thus revealing the embarrassing paucity of servants and the decrepitude of the Listons, the couple in charge as butler and housekeeper respectively.

Patrick, managing to look appallingly guilty and jovial at the same time, bounced down the front steps to greet them. He kissed the bride’s hand and cheek—which was more than Aidan had ever done—and embraced his brother rather too tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Aidan, I didn’t mean you to make a sacrifice like this...” he muttered.

The new Lady Wolf sailed ahead, greeting Mrs. Liston as though she had been born to the role. As if she hadn’t heard Patrick’s unfortunate apology. Only Aidan was sure, somehow that she had heard. It was no worse than anything he had said quite deliberately to make her pay.

Although it was late, well after nine o’clock by the time they arrived, a light supper had been served in the dining room. His nerves were by then at screaming point, but Aidan felt obliged not to disappoint his anxious staff.

“We’ll eat and then I’ll show you to your rooms,” he declared to his wife.

“I’ve dined already,” Patrick said awkwardly. “Shall I leave you to it?”

“God, no,” Aidan said, appalled.

And this time, it was his wife’s lips that gave a faint twitch.

As if sensing his mood, Patrick took on the burden of conversation, aided civilly by his sister-in-law.

Christ, do I even know her name? Miranda is the other one. Perhaps “my lady” will do in the circumstances...

He thought back to the only half-heard wedding ceremony . Eve. She’s called Eve.

The remembrance was an unexpected relief. But he was still heartily glad when the meal came to a close. Patrick effaced himself at once, and Aidan led his bride through the slightly dusty, discreetly empty passages to the traditional apartments of the baroness.

The rooms had been unoccupied since his mother’s death in childbirth almost twenty years ago. The servants had done their best, airing the rooms, and lighting fires to take away the edge of cold and damp, and the bed had been made up with the best linen. Which still wasn’t great. They were hardly welcoming apartments. The carpets and the hangings were old, some of them even moth-eaten, and the air smelled faintly musty. Aidan felt a twinge of guilt.

“You must do as you see fit with these rooms,” he said abruptly. “Have them redecorated to your own taste. Likewise with the rest of the house.”

“Apart from your own apartments. I do remember my instructions.”

“Yes, well. Neither of us has had any time to prepare the practicalities. We must just make the best of it.”

Was that relief softening her eyes? A faint smile, timid and yet eager, curved her lips which were suddenly not severe at all, but curiously vulnerable and almost pretty.

“I will, my lord. We need not hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said in surprise.

Her eyes were serious, perceptive. “But you are angry.”

“Not with you,” he said ruefully. “I apologize for giving such an impression. It is your father who angers me.”

“Why?” she asked. “You got your money and you agreed to the price.”

“I was tricked into paying the price,” he retorted.

She sat down on the bed as though trying out the mattress for comfort. In very different circumstance and several years hence, he had meant to bring his chosen bride to this bed...

“But I read the contract,” she said, frowning. “There was no trick. I think you are angry at yourself for being so eager for the money that you did not read it carefully enough before you signed.”

He stared at her. Alarm showed in her eyes, though she did not back down. And God knew there was more than an element of truth in her words. But he was damned if he’d admit it. His most pressing need was to get out of there with his dignity intact.

“I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said abruptly and strode out of the bedchamber into the equally unprepossessing sitting room. He was halfway across it before it struck him she had brought no servants with her.

He turned on his heel and hurried back into the bedroom, almost colliding with her in the doorway.

Instinctively, he caught her arm to steady her. She was so thin, he felt her bones, fragile like a bird’s, and knew an unwelcome urge to protect this unwanted creature, who stared up at him now with wide, startled brown eyes.

Surprise robbed her of her armour of severity, and he saw her again as the vulnerable young girl who wept secretly as her hand had been placed in his. Whatever triumph Romilly got out of this wedding, it was not shared by his daughter.

For the first time, he was forced to consider the situation from her point of view. She could not have been much more than twenty years old, but she had the character to stand up to him. And the gentleness to feel every contemptuous barb he had thrown at her.

Even now, she did not step back from his unpalatable nearness, nor pull her arm free.

Instead of what he meant to say, he blurted, “You did not want this either. Was there someone else?”

She nodded once.

“Who?” he asked, both curious and pitying.

Her lips twitched unhappily. “The man who married us.”

Aidan couldn’t help his snort of laughter, though he’d no idea where it came from. It was, of course, entirely inappropriate, and she jerked her arm free of his hold, clearly outraged by his reaction to her pain.

He was making everything worse.

“I’ll send Mrs. Liston to you for now,” he said hastily, already turning back into the sitting room. “Tomorrow, engage any servants you wish.”

And then, mercifully, he was in the passage, with the door closed upon his bride and massive relief in his heart. He would not think of his own sacrifice or hers, only about escape.

***

T HERE WAS SOMETHING blessedly familiar in entering the library to find his brother there, already sitting over a book and a glass of brandy.

“Don’t!” Aidan exclaimed, as Patrick, looking horribly guilty, began to speak. “It’s done, and we’re in the clear. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll beat you to a pulp. There is no more to be said. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Patrick fell back with a sigh of relief. “Then you don’t hate me?”

“I only seem to hate Romilly, and even that isn’t fair. Apparently.” Aidan sloshed brandy into a glass, walked over to his favourite desk and lifted the pile of waiting letters which he brought with him back to the chair next to his brother’s. “Now, what is happening in the world?”

“Prize fight down in Cartside,” Patrick said. “Benson and Mullens.”

“Oh, that’s on, is it? I thought it had been stopped.”

“Changed venue to a field in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and there was a duel fought last week, though Scaffy was being too cagey to commit the participants’ names to paper. Probably Durward killed his man at last and will have to flee the country.”

“After the Mullens fight, presumably,” Aidan said, not paying much attention.

“I don’t see him missing it. Word is, Snake Sanderly’s bolting too.”

“Don’t see why.”

“Society hates him.”

“Society is an ass. I never minded Sanderly.”

“Only because you’ve never been on the wrong side of his tongue. You going to take Lady Wolf to Lady Grandison’s party?”

“Christ, no.” Aidan cast his first letter aside and broke the seal on the second. “When is it?”

“This week, isn’t it? I wasn’t invited, being a nobody.”

“Well, at least you won’t be tempted into the deep play that goes on there. Wait a minute—the fight’s the day after tomorrow! If I’m not mistaken, Cartside is not so far away from Grand Court. Where’s the map?”

“Wish I could go,” Patrick said longingly. “To the fight, I mean, not Lady Grandison’s.”

“Well, you can’t,” Aidan retorted. “You’re rusticating. I’m not.” He spread the map out on the desk, confirmed that Grand Court was indeed only a few hours’ ride from Cartside, and gave a crow of triumph, “I’ll be off first thing.”

“First thing?” Patrick stared at him. “But you’re just back! Your wife—”

“My wife is mistress of Wolverton Hall. Let her enjoy it. I’m sure as hell going to enjoy my escape. I’ve earned it!”