Page 12 of Wed By Proxy

Why was his heart thudding so wildly in his chest? Why he had reacted so strongly, he knew not. But somehow her words, nay not exactly her words, but her expression had affected him. Or perhaps it was some potent combination of the two? She was hurt. He had hurt her. Then of course, there was the fact that everyone in the hall had been getting a glimpse of what belonged to him alone.

He cast a fulminating glance over his shoulder and found she had given up on the blanket and was disappearing under his bedcovers. The strong wave of satisfaction that broke over him, at the sight of her in his bed, took him aback. He struggled a moment with his thoughts. What was wrong with him today? Bringing her to his bedchamber was doubtless a mistake, a small cold inner voice nagged at him. If he had any idea of somehow renouncing this female as an imposter, then this was clearly a misstep. There had been several witnesses to his demonstration of overbearing behavior. On the other hand, all but one were his own loyal men and true. None of them would ever bear witness against him. As for her companion, he was still incapable of growing a beard, let alone swearing a grown man’s oath.

He brooded a moment on this, watching the flames grow in the fireplace. When he had himself under a tighter rein, he turned to face her again. She was huddled under the top blanket, such a sad, woebegone look on her face that he was immediately on the back-foot again. Were those tear tracks down her cheeks? Why does she have to look so young? He knew for a fact the woman he had married was supposed to have worked her way through two husbands before him!

“Why did you come here?” he asked, more harshly than he’d intended.

Her gaze flickered to meet his, but their expression of hopelessness didn’t change. “It doesn’t matter,” she said bleakly. “I was mistaken. I thought… At least, I hoped…” she swallowed. “But I was wrong.”

Her words were so quietly uttered he had to crane to catch them. She’d thought what? That she could twist him around her little finger? My gods. He let his eyes roam over that unruly mop of curls. What the hells had she done to herself? He felt a flicker of the concern he’d felt the previous evening. But she had assured him that nothing had befallen her on the journey. He frowned, except clearly something had happened, for no gently-born female had seen the inside of Wickhamford jail! He sighed with frustration and rubbed his temples. He’d already heard her account of how that happened, precious little sense that it made. “Why were you dressed as a boy?” he demanded instead, and for a moment he did not think she would answer.

“I thought it would be safer to travel that way,” she mumbled, still not meeting his gaze.

He frowned. With only another boy as companion, he supposed that made sense, but still... I decided that it was high time we met, were the astonishing words she had uttered earlier. His brain whirled as he came to the realization of what she was admitting. That she had run away. Like a willful, spoilt child. She had left the safety of her parent’s guardianship, and put herself entirely at his mercy. Little fool.

He kicked one of the logs farther into the fire. For some reason though, he left that harsh thought unspoken, and he wasn’t used to considering other people’s feelings. The problem was, she didn’t look like a spoiled, pampered courtier. She looked like a little waif and stray. Unbidden, the memory of her bruised toes swam into his brain, clouding his judgement. It annoyed him that he couldn’t act rationally around her.

“I can leave on the morrow,” she said tonelessly, her eyes still lifeless and dull. Why did she look like that? Not so long ago she had gazed at him with clear, wide eyes that had tied him in knots. Then her words sank in, and struck him on the raw. “Oh will you?” he asked, his own tone pointed and brittle. Gods, these southerners. They thought they could saunter into his life, wreaking havoc and then dance back out again. It was about time she learned to fear him, as everyone else did. His expression hardened and he crossed his arms, regarding her with his nastiest expression. The one that made grown men quake in their boots.

“It would serve you right,” he said coldly. “If I keep you prisoner here, until you give me a son.” Let’s see how she took that! That will take the wind out of her sails no doubt, he thought, with satisfaction.

He heard the hitch in her breath and felt a sudden flash of regret. Why, he had no notion, he thought uncomfortably. Except, he would be a monster indeed to enjoy the tears of women. But when he looked at her, she had lifted her head from the mattress and an expression shone from her eyes that startled him. Naked longing and hope. Suddenly she was flushed with color, her lips parted. What the hells? That was what she wanted? He felt his breathing coming fast. His baby? It couldn’t be?

“Oh my lord,” she said, and clasped her trembling hands together. He was confused. Doubtless she was about to beg him now for mercy, to let her return south. But her words were warm and seemed to breathe life into parts of him that he had quite forgotten even existed. She raised her eyes to meet his, and they were shining. “I would like that above all things,” she confessed huskily.

Guy stared at her. She wanted his baby? He was reeling. Doubtless for some nefarious purpose, his brain shrieked at him, but his head wasn’t ruling him right now. He felt like he was struggling to even breathe. “My son?” he repeated hoarsely. Surely he had misunderstood her?

She nodded her head. “Oh yes. Yes, please,” she answered, so politely that he was struggling to remember why the request was so outrageous. Yes please? He gazed at her in amazement. She smiled back at him, a pretty blush spreading over her cheeks. She looked so entirely guileless that his survival instincts kicked in, overruling his pounding heart. She’s dangerous, a voice whispered to his soul, dousing him like a bucket of ice-cold water. He could still feel the steady pulse of his groin responding to her with an almost painful intensity. He shifted on his feet. Could she tell the state she had reduced him to? Doubtless, she was well versed in the arts of appealing to men. She was certainly playing him like a strung lute. The way she had identified the one chink in his armor, left him dry-mouthed with horror. Clearly, she was a master of this game of manipulation and he was the mere novice here.

He blinked, feeling like a stupefied mouse in front of a snake. How is she doing it? He was amazed by her arts. She sat there with her sawn off, uncombed hair, and despite it all, had the nerve to seduce him! He hadn’t even looked at a woman in years, except with suspicion. More fool him, he believed in keeping his word, even when it had been given under duress. Some ridiculous sense of honor had kept him faithful to the empty marriage vows he’d uttered. He’d had no idea at the time, he thought as he stared at her, that the wife he was pledging himself to could be represented by this. If he had known… he had the terrible suspicion he would not have resented it quite so bitterly. I must be out of my mind.

Guy found himself descending the staircase a few moments later, his head still reeling. Firmin, Waldon and Temur were waiting for him below. Feeling their keen gazes trained on him, he forced his thoughts away from the naked female he’d left in his bed, and tried to focus instead on the quizzing he was about to receive. Holding up a hand to forestall them, he led the way wordlessly to his study.

“Who in the name of the gods, is she?” demanded Firmin as soon as the door closed behind them.

Guy walked around his desk and collapsed into his chair. He passed a shaking hand over his brow and shook his head. “I’m not sure yet,” he said grimly. “I need to be sure.”

“Well her brother’s beside himself, poor little bastard!” muttered Temur. “He’d soon as run you through with a blade as look at you!”

Guy frowned. “He’s not her brother,” he answered shortly. For some reason, Temur’s words annoyed him, though why he had no notion. A husband’s rights far outstripped those of a brother, even if Robin Geddings did turn out to be some male relation of hers.

“You can’t just go exercising feudal rights on a wench that’s not even from round these parts,” protested Waldon, with a horrified expression on his countenance.

Exercising feudal rights? Guy dropped the hand from his brow abruptly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, staring from one appalled face to another.

Waldon couldn’t even meet his gaze. “It’s not right,” he muttered into his beard, staring miserably at his feet.

“Gods, surely you know me better than that?” Guy burst out indignantly. “No Marquess of Martindale has claimed that right in living memory!” He stared hard at them one after the other.

Firmin cleared his throat. “Of course not, Guy” he said uncertainly. “It just looked a little … er.” Words failing him, he turned and nudged Temur.

“I wouldn’t have invited you to my wedding feast if I thought there was a chance you’d claim Lettys’s first night,” Temur admitted frankly.

Guy spluttered incoherently.

“Then why did you do it, my lord?” piped up Waldon in puzzlement, scratching his bristly chin. “We all saw you strip the little maid and then carry her out over your shoulder…”

“I didn’t strip her!” cut in Guy coldly. “She hasn’t got a garment fit to be seen in…” He turned back to Firmin. “Did you send for clothing?” he asked irritably.