Marrying the Major: Passion and peril in Regency London (Unsuitable Matches) Read online

  If only he had been more careful, gone more slowly…

  It was too late. It was done. And badly done. Would she ever learn to forgive him? For the first time in his life, he cursed all those years with the army, fighting for his country while other men learned how to move among the ton and to woo and win society ladies. He had promised they could be comfortable together, but there was nothing comfortable about this. He did not know how to make love to a lady, even when she was his wife. His overwhelming physical desire, the desire he feared he had lost, had driven him to lose control as he had never done before. With other women—before—he had been sometimes passionate, sometimes playful, but always in control. With Emma…

  It must be the effect of being celibate for so long, surely? Next time, he would not let his passions overcome his reason. Next time, he would be caressing, loving—

  He was not sure that he could.

  The sight of Emma lying there had roused him to a height of desire he had not imagined. He must not let it happen again, not like that. And there was only one way to prevent it. They must not share a bed again until they were safely installed at Lake Manor and had learned to be more comfortable together. As he had promised.

  He looked back at her sleeping form. Her breathing was slow now, and measured. He could leave without disturbing her.

  Very gently, he eased himself from the bed and closed the curtains around her. Then he retrieved his robe and made his way back to his own room and his decanter of brandy.

  When his wife woke up to the light of day, she would at least be spared the sight of her husband, naked, beside her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Emma awoke feeling cold. The windows must have been open all night. For several moments, she lay staring at the bed-curtains, trying to muster the courage to turn and look her husband in the face.

  It could no longer be avoided. She took a deep breath and rolled on to her back.

  She was alone in the huge bed. No wonder she had felt cold. She should have realised that Hugo's comforting warmth was gone from her side.

  And she was naked.

  She felt herself blushing as she remembered. Hugo had had no patience with the filmy silk and lace. He would have no barriers between them, he had said. In no time at all, the nightgown had been thrown to the floor.

  And then…

  And then Hugo had made her his wife. This time, he had kissed her, fiercely and possessively. It had been frightening at first—a little—but the fear had passed as soon as her body had begun to heat. This time, there had been no risk of their being disturbed. She had felt free to glory in the way he made her feel, hoping that, if she lay completely still, the sensations he created would go on for ever.

  But they had not. One moment he was almost devouring her with his drugging kisses, murmuring her name as if it were the only word he knew; the next he had taken her body under his own and— She remembered only the streak of pain and the sudden weight of his body on hers. Everything else was hazy, except that he was soon gone from her, silent, rolling on to his back and closing his eyes. He had not touched her again.

  Emma understood none of it. First, those amazing feelings, as if something magical were about to happen, and then? Nothing. It could not be right. Not like this. Jamie had said it could be wonderful. Was this what she meant? Surely not. Emma had felt as tense as a coiled spring—which was far from wonderful—and then she had felt bereft.

  Perhaps Jamie would explain, now that Emma was truly a wife?

  Perhaps she would, if only Emma could find the courage to ask. She felt herself blushing even more. She could not possibly talk of this night, not to anyone.

  Emma pulled the sheet round her body and reached out through the curtains for her nightgown. She would be mortified if her abigail found her naked. And what if Hugo came in? She hastily donned the flimsy covering. She was not sure whether a husband would think it necessary to knock.

  She had so much to learn about being a wife, much more than she had ever imagined. She could run a household, or host a dinner for royalty, without the slightest qualm. It was as easy as riding a horse. But she did not know what to say to her husband when they were alone, or whether she might touch him, or how to show him that she loved him.

  For she did. In spite of everything, she did.

  She had been stunned by Hugo's cold reaction to her acceptance of his proposal. It was as if he had slapped her. It seemed that he would not forgive her those wounding insults, that he was offering to marry a woman he despised, only because he wanted to save his younger brother. But by then it was too late. Her words could not be unsaid. She had spent four whole days trying to shut out the thought of what she had done by accepting him, and the prospect of spending the rest of her life with such a calculating, cold-blooded man.

  But there was nothing cold-blooded about the man who came to her bed. He might despise her—though she was no longer sure of that—but he was certainly not cold-blooded. His passionate kisses, the way his hands skimmed her body, learning its contours in the darkness, the anguish in his voice as he spoke her name, over and over. He had lit a flame in her, certes, but he, too, had been burning.

  Throwing back the bed-curtains, she rose and donned a heavy silk wrapper. Its concealing folds helped restore much of her normal strength of mind. Today was her godson's birthday and she must make ready to face the world.

  She had been a fool these last four days, allowing her fears to rule her. There was no need. She was Hugo's wife and she could make him proud of her.

  An unbidden thought arose. Perhaps one day he might even value her enough to care for her, a little? Perhaps then, she would not feel so desolate?

  She must try. She would prove to him that she was the perfect wife. Such a woman would care for her husband and look to his slightest needs without being asked. A husband would never have cause to find fault with such a paragon of wifely virtues. It could not be so difficult, surely?

  Emma straightened her back and lifted her chin. It would be a role, like all the others she had played in her life. She would play it to perfection.

  "You made all these arrangements without saying a word to me?" Emma's voice had not risen appreciably, but she was white with fury.

  Hugo took his wife by the arm and steered her away from the rest of the guests on the lawn. Little Dickon was the centre of everyone's attention, chortling happily as he played with his new toys and was petted by first one, then another of the admiring adults. No one would notice their departure.

  When they were hidden by the broad trunk of the ancestral oak, Hugo loosed his hold on her arm. She stared at him, accusingly, rubbing her flesh as if it were bruised.

  "There is no need for all this outrage, Emma," he said, frowning. As a soldier, he had prided himself on his coolness in the face of provocation, but today he was having great difficulty in keeping a rein on his temper. She had no right to challenge him, especially in public.

  "How dare—?"

  "I am your husband," Hugo said as calmly as he could. "Such decisions are mine to make. We leave for Lake Manor on Friday, and that is where we shall live, for the rest of this year, at least." At the sight of the sudden hurt in her eyes, he tried to soften his tone. "Trust me, Emma, it is for the best."

  It took her a long time to reply. Hugo thought she was weighing her words.

  "What about my father?"

  Hugo was tempted to remind her of her wedding vows, to forsake all others and cleave only to him, but that would have been too cruel. He ought to have prepared her for being uprooted from her home. He put his hand on her arm, gently this time. "Your father knows precisely what I plan, Emma. And he is in full agreement. He knows we have to make our own life together, my dear. Living in your father's house is no way to do that."

  "You discussed all this with my father?" she said. She sounded shocked. She threw him a swift, angry glare and then fixed her gaze on the grass beneath her feet.

  Hugo was not prepared to argue the po
int. "Of course. He naturally wished to know how I planned to support his daughter and the kind of life I could offer her. He was relieved to learn that a man of means, rather than a fortune hunter, was about to become his son-in-law."

  Emma said nothing. She did not look at him.

  "And now, I think we should return to Dickon's party, do not you? It is the child's day and we should not spoil it with petty quarrels. Come, Emma." He held out his hand.

  For a moment she did not move. Then she nodded. "You are right. A godmother must be gay on her godson's birthday." Ignoring his outstretched hand, she walked out from behind the oak and rejoined the group around the child.

  Hugo gritted his teeth and followed. She had started talking to the rector as if nothing had happened. And she was laughing.

  Emma watched Hugo out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to hit him, though she had managed to restrain herself. Just. That would have been a public humiliation for them both.

  He was unfair. He was a tyrant. He was forcing her to live on his rundown estate, miles from anywhere, so that he could have her all to himself, so that she would be cut off from her father and her friends and all the places she had known since childhood. And she had no choice but to go with him. No one, not even her father, would take her part against her lawful husband.

  She had been wrong about marriage. She had been wrong about Hugo. She could not begin to be the quiet, conformable wife she had pictured in her mind. She was not sure how she had ever thought to love a man who treated her with so little consideration.

  She watched her husband throw little Dickon high into the air, catching him easily when he tumbled, squealing, back to earth. Hugo had regained his physical strength much faster than she would have thought possible. He would have no need of her ministrations. He was self-sufficient to an extent that was almost frightening.

  Emma began to feel hollow inside. How many more of her ambitions would be brought to naught by this man she had married? Did he need her at all? How naïve she had been, earlier, to think that she could turn herself into the perfect submissive wife. Hugo might welcome it—judging by his attitude today, he took her submission for granted—but Emma had learned she was incapable of it.

  Hugo and Dickon were down on the grass now, playing with a pair of wooden horses. But Dickon clearly wanted a real live horse, so Hugo obligingly went down on all fours and allowed the child to ride on his back. Emma watched, suddenly envious. Her husband was more understanding of the needs of Richard's child than he was of his wife's.

  Richard came at last to retrieve his son, ignoring Dickon's protests. Hugo yielded with good grace, but there was something in his face that Emma recognised, even though it was gone in a moment. She had seen that expression before, the very first time she had seen Hugo on the lawn with Dickon. In a flash of insight, she understood the hunger behind that look. Hugo loved children. And Hugo had been convinced he would never have a family of his own. Did he think so still?

  Emma could not continue to watch from a distance. She was beginning to realise that her husband was a very complex man. It was too easy to brand him a tyrant, on the grounds of a few sharp words. And, in truth, she had given him little choice by challenging him as she had. Having made his decision to take her to Lake Manor, he could not be expected to change it, in public, at the first sign of opposition from his wife.

  She must try again. Not to be submissive and unquestioning, for that would be beyond her, but to understand him better. Hugo might be more difficult than the other men she knew, but there must be a way to reach him. She had always been able to bend every other man to her will.

  She would begin by apologising for her outburst. That would surely disarm him.

  Emma made her way to her husband's side, but her good intentions were frustrated by the arrival of Richard's butler, in search of Hugo. "May I have a word, sir?" Digby said quietly. That was all Emma heard. The rest of the butler's words were for Hugo alone.

  Hugo raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Then, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he followed the butler across the lawn to the house.

  "Kit! What the devil—?" Kit was the last person Hugo had expected to see in Richard's bookroom. Digby had told him only that a gentleman was come, on urgent business.

  Kit looked more embarrassed than Hugo had ever seen him. "I'm sorry, Hugo," he said. "Believe me, I would never have intruded on your honeymoon if I'd had any choice. Emma—Mrs Stratton doesn't know I'm here, does she?"

  "No. Digby was very discreet. But what on earth possessed you to come here? The gossips will have a field day with this."

  "I had no choice, Hugo. I am in real trouble."

  "Oh, God. What now?"

  "Money," Kit said in a hollow voice. "I lost five thousand pounds to Lady Luce. And she's demanding immediate payment."

  First Emma, and now Kit. Hugo's fraying temper snapped. "Have you no sense of honour? You played with money you do not have. Worse, you did so against a lady. You're a disgrace to the name you bear."

  Kit stood ramrod straight, taking Hugo's angry words as if they were blows.

  Hugo's voice rose even more. "I take it you don't have the money to pay her?"

  Kit did not move, though he coloured a little.

  "Well, do you?"

  "No. But I—"

  "Don't give me your lame excuses, Kit. We'll finish this bout with the buttons off. You lost a fortune at the tables and now you have a debt of honour that you can't pay. Well? What do you intend to do about it?"

  Kit looked his brother straight in the eye. "I did think to blow my brains out, but I have already brought you trouble enough."

  The intent expression in Kit's face shocked Hugo. He meant it. All Hugo's anger drained from him at the thought of what his rash young fool of a brother might have done. Hugo gripped the back of the chair for support, his mind racing. "Good of you to think about the rest of the family. I'm sure John will be suitably grateful," he said with heavy sarcasm. "Pity you didn't think of us before you set about losing money you don't have."

  Kit stood rigidly to attention. "You are furious, Hugo," he said at last. "I suppose you have every right to be. I own it was a stupid thing to do. If it hadn't been for Forster—"

  "Forster?" Hugo thundered. "Forster was there?"

  At last, Kit hung his head a little. "Yes. I know I should have left as soon as he joined the table, but I didn't want anyone to think I was afraid to face him."

  Hugo nodded. He knew Forster's ways only too well.

  "So I stayed," Kit continued, "and played. And when Lady Luce started winning so heavily, he said—he implied that I wasn't man enough to stick at the table when I was losing. After that, I couldn't leave, could I?"

  Hugo nodded a little reluctantly. He fancied he would have done the same in his brother's place.

  "I was sure I would win eventually. You know I've always been lucky with the cards and the bones. Thought it was just a matter of time. Lady Luce's luck would turn, I would recoup my losses, and nobody would be any the wiser. Especially Forster."

  "But your luck didn't turn," Hugo said flatly.

  "The grasping old witch gave me no chance. I swear I'll have my revenge on her yet. She'd take the last farthing from a beggar. She must have been keeping count. The moment my losses reached five thousand, she announced that she had had enough for the night and would retire. Said she expected me to call on her within the week."

  Hugo found he was still gripping the chair. He deliberately relaxed his hands, one at a time, while he thought through Kit's story so far. There must be more. He knew that. He waited in silence for Kit to resume.

  "She refused point blank to give me any chance of recouping my losses. Said she wouldn't be playing for more than chicken-stakes for a while."

  "That doesn't sound like Lady Luce at all," Hugo said, surprised.

  "Transpires that she needs the money to cover her own losses. For once, her son is refusing to pay—word is he can't lay his hands on the blunt
—so she is desperate. She would continue to be received, given her pedigree, but no one in his right mind would ever allow her to play again."

  Hugo made to speak but Kit forestalled him.

  "You don't need to say it, Hugo. I know I was mad to play. And for such stakes. Do you think I would have chosen to come cap in hand to you if I could have found another way? Believe me, I tried every other avenue I could think of."

  Hugo went over to the desk and leaned against it, breathing heavily. "And you think I might happen to have five thousand pounds about me? Kit, you really must be mad."

  This time, Kit refused to meet Hugo's eyes. His neck was very red above his snowy cravat. "I knew John could never raise so much. You were my last hope. I knew you had Emma's dowry."

  "What?"

  As Hugo's shout of fury echoed around the wooden panels, the door opened.

  "Excuse me, I did knock, but—" At the sight of Kit, Emma stopped dead, eyes wide and face suddenly ashen.

  Hugo crossed the room in a few strides, taking her arm in a fierce grip and turning her back towards the open door. "You have no business here, Emma," he said angrily. "You will have the goodness to leave us. At once."

  She gasped in protest, but Hugo took no notice. He propelled her into the corridor and shut the door firmly at her back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Emma's hand came up to her mouth, trying to stop the cry of anguish that had risen in her throat. Hugo's furious words seemed to be echoing inside her head. No man had ever spoken to her in such a fashion. And this man was her husband.

  She could hear Hugo's angry voice from the other side of the door. This time, he must be berating his brother. The heavy wood muffled most of the sound, but the word "dowry" was unmistakable, as was the venom with which it was spoken.