How to Train Your Baron (What Happens in the Ballroom) Page 10

  “Not quite that long”—he laughed again, coldly—“but it may feel like it. How many other falsehoods have you uttered so easily?”

  “None, I swear it.” She felt tears forming in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She balled her hands into fists at her sides. The pain of her nails digging into her palms kept her focused. She would not be bullied.

  “The trouble with lying, my lady wife, is that if you’re willing to tell a large one, you’re willing to tell a small one, as well.” He moved around the bed until he was standing directly behind her. “Giving your betrothed a false name is hardly a little lie. Tell me, how else have I been deceived? You are indeed the duke’s legitimate daughter, are you not?”

  Elsinore gasped with indignation as she turned to face him. “Of course I am.”

  “And a maiden still?” he asked, raising his hand and running his fingertip along the edge of her bodice.

  Her face flamed at his intimate touch. “How dare you! You are no gentleman.”

  “What is at issue here is the state of your maidenhead, not my manners.”

  She pushed his hand away, turned on her heel, and started toward the door. “You’re being a boor, and I refuse to speak with you any longer.”

  “Methinks thou doth protest too much.” He reached out and quickly caught her around the waist as she tried to dart past him. Eyes hard with warning, he steered her to the bed and pushed her down into a sitting position. “Tell me, my bonnie Elsinore, have there been no secret kisses in the garden? Or perhaps a caress in the moonlight?” Then he leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Has a man ever rested his ungloved hand against your ivory thigh?” The slap to his face echoed through the room, and he stepped back with a sardonic grin.

  “You despicable monster!” Elsinore jumped up from the bed, and the tears that had been threatening fell from her eyes. She expected anger, but this—this was torment. Truth, she decided. She would fight his onslaught with the absolute truth. “I have saved my honor for a man who holds true affection for me. Which it is quite clear you do not. You insult me, you offend me…”

  The rest of her words went unspoken as Quin crushed his mouth against hers. She pushed at his chest as his arms locked around her and pulled her close, molding her body to his. As she struggled to turn her head away and deny his kiss, he released her lips.

  “Kiss me, dammit,” he growled at her. “Kiss me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Because another man holds your affection?” He loosened his grip on her, took a step back, and had the good manners to look ashamed of himself. “If there is another in your heart, you mustn’t let it keep you from being a true wife to me.”

  “There is no other,” she replied, confused. What had she done to merit this irrational show of jealousy? She’d spoken to no other eligible gentleman since the moment they’d met. Surely, he must know that. “I am your true wife in all things, Lord Graham. I will give you no reason to doubt it.”

  “Then kiss me,” he said, reaching out his hand but stopping just short of touching her.

  Elsinore took a deep breath, wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, and forced herself to look into his eyes. Someone had hurt him, she realized. She felt an unexpected spark of jealousy flame in her own heart. She had blundered badly with the false name, but she would regain his trust. “I am your true wife,” she repeated.

  He nodded. “I would like to kiss my true wife. That is, if she will allow it.” One eyebrow rose in question as he waited for her response.

  She regarded the hand she’d been so mesmerized with only a few days ago. It had not changed, it was still large, strong, and steady. She placed her hand in his. “Yes.”

  With his lips pressing against her skin, caressing her with each word, he began to speak, “Please forgive my jealous nature.” His warm lips moved from her earlobe to the nape of her neck. “You mustn’t be afraid of me.”

  His kisses, so warm and tender, said more than his words. She flicked her tongue against her own lips; they tingled with the anticipation of returning his attentions. He refocused his attentions to a delicate patch of skin at her brow, and she sighed with contentment.

  “Close your eyes.” His warm breath tickled against her skin as he spoke, and one hand left her waist to gently cradle the back of her head.

  Elsinore obeyed, letting her head rest against his palm as he brushed his lips against her eyelids. “Oh, my.”

  “Shall I continue?”

  Elsinore nodded her consent, a moment before she felt his lips ever so softly against her own. He repeated the motion, pressing his mouth against hers for the length of a single heartbeat before retreating.

  Elsinore slid her hands up his shoulders and pulled him closer. The kiss lingered and deepened. He sucked at her bottom lip and coaxed her lips to part. She stiffened as she felt the tip of his tongue tease its way into her mouth, but she soon dared to meet it with her own, and he groaned his approval.

  Elsinore stood on tiptoes and pulled him closer, wanting more, needing more. Her body hummed with carnal awakening, and she rubbed herself against him, striving for more. For one blissful, intoxicating minute, she was a part of him. She tasted him, breathed him in, and filled her lungs with him. She felt the pulse of his heart beating as if she were holding it in the palm of her hand.

  She knew the second before it happened, felt him pull away emotionally and then physically. He severed their connection and turned his head away before taking a step back, putting even more distance between them. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her mind reeling with want and the fear that she’d disappointed him.

  “Nothing,” he said, shifting his attention to the box that still lay on the bed. He stared at it a moment before speaking. “Why don’t you open your gift?”

  “Perhaps now isn’t the time,” she protested gently. She wanted more kissing. More of the soft, lovely feeling of his lips and hands.

  He didn’t answer, just reached across the bed for the box, pausing for a moment as he held the card bearing her false name, before pulling it over, sliding off the ribbon, and lifting the wooden top. An entire menagerie of carved ivory animals filled the box. A large ruby-eyed elephant stood proudly in the middle along with a small card that read “Zooella.”

  “I purchased it the day of our outing,” he explained. “It was meant to please you.” His manner changed so abruptly, Elsinore shook her head to clear it. Whatever was the matter with her new husband? He turned to leave before she could respond.

  “Quin,” she called out to his retreating back, still reeling from his suddenly cold demeanor. “Was I so disappointing? You seem displeased.” He stopped briefly but did not turn to face her. “There should be more honesty between us,” she added, hoping he’d agree.

  “Honesty?” She watched as his shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. “It was wrong of me to marry you, Elsinore. We should never have wed.”

  “I don’t understand.” A hundred questions popped into her mind at once; they all started with a single word. “Why?”

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought since yesterday. For your own good, it is best that we are clear on what sort of arrangement this is.”

  “We are married. I am your wife—that’s what sort of arrangement this is.”

  “It’s for your own good, Elsinore. I don’t expect you to understand. When you have provided me with an heir, I will send you somewhere—anywhere you wish—and you can live your life as ye please. Any child will stay with me, of course, but I’ll provide for you. You’ll want for nothing.”

  “I’ll want for my child and my husband. What has come over you? I would never leave my child.” He couldn’t mean it. It was too terrible to even ponder. Horrified, she reached out to him.

  “I’ll not let another bairn of mine suffer.”

  “Bairn? You have a child?” Her mouth fell open, and she shook her head while searching for the right words. “Did you not think it important to inform me of th
is before the wedding?”

  Quin sighed deeply. “My wife and son are dead. That’s the only reason I agreed to marry you, Elsinore. I selfishly wanted an heir, and therefore, when the opportunity presented itself, I took you on as a wife. You’ve made sport of me; now it is my turn. When I have what I want, you’ll be set aside.” With no further explanation, he walked out of the room.

  Confusion and betrayal crashed over her in endless waves that threatened to drown her in anger and regret.

  “Damn.” Elsinore cursed aloud for the first time in her life. All of bloody London must have known, and not one of them thought enough of me to tell me. As the full impact of his words sank in, she began to tremble.

  He’d only married her so she could give birth to his heir, and then he would set her aside. She lurched for the washbasin and crumbled to the floor, certain she was going to be sick. He’d already made up his mind that he would never love her. She was naught to him but the silly girl he’d conveniently compromised. Her parents must have known. What a fool she was.

  She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but she found she could do neither. She sat on the floor clutching the basin for what seemed like hours before hearing a soft tapping at the door. “Please go away,” she said to the closed door.

  “Milady, are you well?”

  Yvette! Elsinore scrambled to her feet and smoothed her gown. “Come in.”

  “I’ve brought some warm towels and some—” Yvette stopped speaking, reached back, and quietly pulled the door shut behind her. “Milady, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” she whispered.

  “I think I may have,” Elsinore replied, as her bottom lip began to tremble.

  Yvette dropped her armload into the nearest chair and rushed to Elsinore’s side. “Milady?”

  “Oh, Yvette, I am such a fool.” The words had no sooner left her mouth before fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Milady, no,” she said as she gathered her mistress into an embrace. “You must never say such a thing. Here, sit upon the bed and tell me what troubles you. Has he beat you?”

  Elsinore shook her head. “He has not harmed my body—only my heart and my spirit. And,” she choked back a sob, “I fear that they may never recover.”

  “Tell me what troubles you so, milady.”

  Elsinore wiped away her tears before speaking. “Lord Graham was previously married and had a son. Now that his wife and son are dead, he needs an heir. After he has a son, he intends to send me away and set me aside.” Elsinore swallowed back a fresh batch of tears before she continued. “I am naught but breeding stock to him.”

  With a final sniff, Elsinore stood and walked to the window, looking out over the town that was the only home she’d ever known. It felt foreign now, and wrong—full of people who’d lied to her and laughed behind her back. She knew once she left, she could never return. After a moment, she exhaled a long breath and straightened her shoulders. “Yvette, fetch a small tub and have the kitchen heat some water so I can wash.”

  “Do you really mean to attend the wedding ball this evening, milady?”

  “Of course I do. The punch line to the grand joke of the season needs to make her appearance. Has my new green ball gown been packed?”

  “The green watered silk, milady?”

  “It’s one of the few things I was able to choose for myself. I’ll need you to alter it before tonight. A few inches off the neckline should do it.”

  “But that would make it…”

  “Exactly.” With renewed purpose, Elsinore smiled.

  Chapter Nine

  “Occupation of a hound need not be limited to hunt and sport. Disparage not the devotion and benefit of a companion hound.” Oglethorpe’s Treatise on the Obedient Canine

  He never should have kissed her. Those sweet, sincere kisses—given so innocently—were his undoing. He absorbed her strength with each passing moment their lips touched until shame coiled within him, and he’d had to step away before it tainted her. When guilt and self-loathing overwhelmed him, he’d run from the room like a coward. She deserved so much better.

  The scrap of paper on his desk mocked his life. Murderer! The note began as all the others had. How many of his countrymen, his tenants, even servants in his own household believed him to be a murderer? Tear up this note and, like Hydra, two more would grow in its place.

  The whispers started the day his parents went missing. There were those who claimed he was too impatient to wait for his inheritance. After all, an untimely carriage accident could be an eager heir’s best friend. Holding his head high, he ignored the chatter, certain it would fade. But then his son died. One week a healthy boy, the next, a small, limp body. He would always remember the weight of that small, lifeless bundle in his arms as he placed him in his coffin.

  Rather than waning out of respect for a man in mourning, the whispers grew in both frequency and volume. With Sorcha’s death barely a week later, the accusations became shouts. And then they became missives. This latest one particularly frank. I will take from you what you have taken from me. You will pay.

  His parents, his son—hadn’t he paid enough? Sorcha’s death, well, now, that he owed for. His payment, his hell on earth, would be to find happiness and have it turn on him and spit in his face. When Elsinore learned the truth about him, she would surely grow to hate him. When the time came, she would gladly take her settlement portion and leave. But, damn his pride, if blessed again he would never let the child leave his side.

  He never considered the possibility of developing feelings for his wife. But then, he never imagined having a wife such as Elsinore. Once a cuckold, trust did not come easy. His first wife betrayed him in every manner imaginable, but he’d never expected much from her to begin with. It had never been a love match. Elsinore was different. That was an understatement. She was unlike any other woman on this earth. If she stayed, if he could keep her safe…no, it was impossible—there were too many ifs involved. He didn’t deserve her love or her trust after what he’d done.

  He had to be man enough to make a clean break. It was what was best for all. As he walked down the hall to her room, he practiced his apology. His earlier churlishness alarmed her and was uncalled for. He would let her know that no matter what happened, or what rumors she might hear, she had nothing to fear from him.

  Finally, she emerged. He thought to speak, but the first sight of her stopped him in his tracks with his mouth hanging open. Instead of the naive young woman he married, out of her room walked a vixen in green silk with rouged lips and kohl-rimmed eyes.

  “Good evening, husband,” she said, not sparing him as much as a glance as she glided by.

  He could only stare as she proceeded to the stairway, his apology forgotten. “You are nae wearing that to the ball tonight,” he finally managed. The silk gown, sheer as a veil, was cut low and tight across the bodice, focusing all attention on her perfect, creamy white breasts. The lustrous fabric fluttered around her legs as she moved, as if she walked in an erotic dream. The color made her eyes darker, her hair brighter, and served to highlight the dusky rose of her lips. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

  She continued, with Yvette trailing closely behind holding her wrap, as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “I said,” he repeated more loudly, “you are not wearing that dress to the ball tonight.”

  Elsinore didn’t bother to face him with her reply. “Why not?”

  “It’s too…too…too much skin, that’s why.”

  “I see.” She stopped at the top of the stairway and turned to look at him, her face a study in innocence. “Too much? Is this not the appropriate amount for your whore?”

  “My what?” Quin dragged his hand through his hair before continuing. “Yvette, you are excused. Wait for us downstairs.”

  Yvette turned and ran down the stairs. Stopping halfway down she turned back, fear in her eyes, as if she suddenly thought better of leaving her mistress alone.

  Elsinore cau
ght her eye and nodded once. “It’s all right, Yvette. I’ll be along in just a minute.”

  “What are you about, Elsinore?” Quin’s raised voice captured her attention. “Has someone insulted you? Has someone called you a whore? Ye have only to tell me, and I will call them out.”

  Elsinore’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Isn’t that what I am?” she asked. “Perhaps you prefer another term. How about broodmare?”

  “I’m sorry if that is the impression I gave you.” He forced out his apology with a scowl. “I behaved badly and spoke out of turn. I should have explained things better. Please forgive me.”

  “The truth is that you did marry me for the sole purpose of using my body. Does that not make me your whore?”

  “That makes you my wife. A fact that you should not forget. Now, quickly, go and change your gown. I’ll not have any wife of mine parading her bosoms through a ballroom.”

  Elsinore pushed back her shoulders, raised her chin, and looked him in the eye. “I think not. I adore this gown and fear that in Scotland I will have no other occasion to wear it. As you have so kindly pointed out, I am a married woman and no longer need to wear the pale draping of a schoolgirl. I thought you might like it.”

  “I do,” he replied. “But for my eyes only. Not for the rest of the world to see.” She’d been pretty on the night they met and pleasing to the eye since. Tonight, as risqué as the gown was, Elsinore was nothing less than stunning. Had she changed so much or had he changed the way he looked at her?

  “Oh? I thought perhaps it would be your preference to see me in nothing at all. Surely, clothing would only slow you from your purpose.”

  Quin took a slow, deep breath. He’d been cruel to her earlier and owed her a boon. The gown was not much worse than those he’d observed at the Winchcombes’ ball, but it was not meant for a new bride’s first outing into society. This gown, this defiance, was his punishment for being harsh with her earlier, and he deserved it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t remind her that she was now a married woman.