Silk And Steel Part 13

Kathryn tried to smile, but her face felt brittle and her lips barely moved. The minutes crawled past. She began to wonder if he had changed his mind about the wedding and would not come. If he didn't, she would be left to the mercy of her uncle, who sat in one of the polished walnut pews staring at her with icy eyes and a look of such malice her stomach churned and bile rose into her throat.

Only Lord Dunstan, Bishop Tallman, Aunt Winnie, and the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Carlyle were in attendance. The marquess had made no pretense of being happy about the marriage, not even for the benefit of the servants. It was not a joyous occasion and he meant for one and all to know it.

Kathryn's fingers bit into the gold-trimmed lace handkerchief she gripped in one damp hand. Of all the weddings she had ever dreamed up, never could she have envisioned a day as miserable as this.

a.s.suming Litchfield actually went through with it.

A second wave of nausea rolled through her. Please let him come, she silently prayed. Please let him stand by me just this one last time.

It would be the last, she knew. She had betrayed him and now she knew he would never forgive her.

The bishop cleared his throat. "Your bridegroom seems to have been detained," he said with a thunderous glare toward the door. "I wonder where..."

But he didn't have to wonder anymore. Lucien strode in behind the duke and d.u.c.h.ess, whose worried expressions mirrored her own, though theirs held a trace of pity. Her gaze swung to the man who followed them up the aisle, the man who would be her husband. Tall and graceful and breathtakingly handsome-cold and hard-eyed, and more angry than she had ever seen him. Lucien strode toward where she stood near the bishop and Aunt Winnie at the front of the church.

"Ah, there you are, beloved." Sarcasm dripped from every word and his eyes held an edge of steel. He made a slight, mocking bow. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting. I had important matters to attend." As if his wedding were not among them.

Kathryn turned away at the words he had purposely said to hurt her and blinked to hold back tears. She deserved this-every bit of it. But G.o.d, it made her heart ache unbearably.

"If you are ready, Bishop Tallman," Lucien said, taking her shaking hand and resting it on the sleeve of his navy blue velvet coat. "I believe you have a wedding to perform."

The bishop nodded, his white hair glistening in the light of the dozens of candles that lined both sides of the chapel. "Quite so," he said, and they followed him to a spot in front of the altar.

It was fas.h.i.+oned of ornately carved wood, draped with a length of aging ivory silk, and a ma.s.sive Bible sat open atop it. The bishop began to read, but Kathryn barely heard him. She could feel Litchfield's powerful presence beside her, feel the heat of his anger as if it were a tangible thing.

The torturous moments wore on, but she couldn't seem to focus on what was being said. Her heart was pounding so hard it threatened to tear through her chest. Her mouth felt so dry she could barely repeat the bishop's words. Lucien said them with a lethal calm that matched the killing look on his face. Fury flashed in his dark eyes like a deadly bolt of lightning every time he glanced in her direction.

At last the brief, emotionless ceremony came to an end, but instead of a bridegroom's kiss, Litchfield gave her a stiff bow of acknowledgment that said he was well and truly wed, and turned to take his leave. The high-pitched gasp of horror that came from the open door stopped him cold.

Kathryn swayed at the sight of Allison Hartman, Lady St. James, and Allison's father, the baron, blocking the entrance to the chapel. Dunstan turned to stare. Carlyle started and the d.u.c.h.ess made a soft little gasp of horror. With a shaking hand, Kathryn gripped the altar to steady herself.

At the opposite end of the room, the baron's thunderous voice overrode the stunned silence of the guests. "Good G.o.d, Litchfield-what is this outrage? What the devil is going on?" A portly man with a barrel chest and heavy, white-stockinged calves, his immaculate forest-green velvet tailcoat flapping as he moved, St. James strode like a maddened bull up the aisle, stopping in front of Lucien, who stood half a head taller, his broad shoulders rigid. The baron craned his thick neck to look him in the face.

"Tell me my eyes deceive me. Tell me I did not just witness your marriage."

"I sent you a note," Lucien said. "I asked for a meeting with you and your family at your home on the morrow at two. Did you not receive my message?"

"I received it. When I showed it to my wife, she begged me not to wait. Martha was afraid something untoward was going on. She feared you were somehow still involved with that madwoman from St. Bart's." He cast a hard glance toward the altar. "If the woman you just wed is Lady Kathryn Grayson, obviously my wife was correct."

Clutching her mother's hand, Allison made a fluttery little sound in her throat. "Lucien? My lord? You did not truly marry her?" She stared at Litchfield with big blue teary eyes, moisture streaming down her cheeks. Gowned in a dark blue silk traveling dress, she looked pale and shaken, and Kathryn's guilt rose up again.

Lucien moved past the baron down the aisle and stopped in front of Allison, his whole body tense. He made a slight bow and took her trembling gloved hand.

"Lady Allison. I have done you a grave disservice. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way, but that, it seems, is what has occurred. It is not enough to say that I am sorry. I do not ask for your pardon, merely that in time you may somehow come to forgive me."

"Forgive you?" She pulled her hand from his, pressed a fine lace handkerchief beneath her nose, and very daintily sniffed. "You have ruined my life, sir. You have made me a laughingstock in front of all of London. I shall never, ever forgive you!" Whirling away, she lifted her wide blue silk skirts and raced from the chapel, the heels of her matching blue slippers clicking against the stone floor.

Her mother, her face an angry mottled red, glared up at Litchfield. "You and that... that harlot. I knew something like this would happen. If that little s.l.u.t hadn't come along-"

"Madam," Lucien quietly warned, "I realize this has been upsetting, but I remind you, you are speaking of my wife."

Her cheeks puffed in and out, heaving in rhythm to her bosom. "You, sir, are no gentleman!" Turning, she pounded after her daughter, letting the heavy door slam behind her. The rest of the guests in the chapel sat in fascinated silence, staring at the scene as if a great Shakespearean tragedy were being played out before their very eyes.

The baron's hard gaze bored into Litchfield. "I should call you out for this."

Lucien's face looked suddenly haggard. "That is certainly your right. I shall, of course, pay for any expenses you have incurred in regard to the wedding and allow you to explain what has happened in any way that you and your daughter see fit." Some of the stiffness left his posture and fatigue seemed to settle over his broad shoulders. "I'm sorry, Edward. I truly am. I have always valued your friends.h.i.+p. It pains me greatly to know that I have lost it."

For a moment the older man just stood there, his jaw squarely clamped. Then he released a weary sigh and made a curt nod of his head. With his thick neck slumped slightly forward, he walked past Litchfield out of the chapel.

The marquess cast a last glance at Kathryn. She could read the turbulence in his eyes, the humiliation. Regret knifed sharply through her. Dear G.o.d, she hadn't meant for any of this to happen. She had only been trying to protect herself. She had thought that it would all work out, that in a year he could marry whomever he wished. Now she saw that the plans he had made had been destroyed forever. She wondered if the price had been worth it.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt Aunt Winnie's arm around her shoulder. "Give him time, my dear. In time it will all work out."

But Kathryn didn't think so. Not anymore. And as she watched the tall, handsome man she had married walk out the door, she realized with sudden, painful clarity she had lost more than just a friend. She didn't know exactly how Allison Hartman felt about the Marquess of Litchfield, but in that final moment when she had looked into her husband's angry face, Kathryn had discovered with dawning horror that she was totally and irrevocably in love with him.

Sprawled on a tufted leather sofa in his study, the rain beating down with unrelenting force, Lucien lifted his gla.s.s of brandy and drained the contents, then refilled the gla.s.s, knocked it back, and filled it again.

He was blindly, stupidly drunk as he hadn't been in years and he didn't give a b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.n. His debacle of a wedding was over. At long last, he was a married man.

He scoffed at the notion. He was married, all right, outfoxed by a slip of a girl who had tricked him with her tempting little body. Kathryn Grayson was a deceitful little harlot-nothing at all like Allison Hartman-and now she was his wife. He thought of the scene with Allison in the church, grimaced, and took another long drink. He felt guilty for hurting her, though what she mostly suffered was disappointment and embarra.s.sment. She didn't love him. He wasn't certain she was the type of woman who was capable of that sort of emotion. It was one of the things he'd liked best about her.

He wasn't worried about her future. With the face of an angel and a ripening figure to match, together with the sizable dowry her father had provided, it wouldn't be long before she was betrothed again, wed, and out of the marriage mart for good.

The thought set his teeth on edge and made him angry all over again. Angry at the woman upstairs. Angry at himself for having been such a fool.

Kathryn was responsible. She was the one who had caused all of this. He consoled himself with the reminder she was his wife in name only. A year from now he would be free of her. He would find another girl like Allison, a sweet, well-bred young woman who would make a good mother for the children she would bear him.

Lucien set his drink down on the table in front of the sofa, his temper still raging. Reaching across the polished marble top, he picked up a small mother-of-pearl inlaid snuffbox, lifted the lid, and took a pinch of snuff. The white lace on his cuff brushed against his jaw as he drew in the robust, slightly sweet tobacco.

He rarely overindulged in anything. He intended to do so tonight-his wedding night-and to h.e.l.l with Kathryn Grayson.

His mind formed a memory of her that evening at the lodge, of her feigned pa.s.sion and heated responses, of the innocent kisses that had seemed so real he had tumbled in their thrall down the road to disaster.

Instead of sitting there feeling sorry for himself, what he should be doing was striding up the stairs to take what Kathryn Grayson had so convincingly offered. What she had bartered for the safety of his name. Lucien snapped the lid closed on the snuffbox a little too hard and tossed the box back down on the table. Strands of disheveled black hair moved against his cheek. He jerked the ribbon from the nape of his neck and tossed it away, letting the hair fall unhindered around his face.

Taking another sip of his drink, he leaned back against the deep leather sofa, thinking of Kathryn's sweet little body, remembering the softness of her lips, and wis.h.i.+ng he could make her pay.

Kathryn stood mutely in the center of the same royal-blue bedchamber she had stayed in at the castle before. She wasn't ensconced in the marchioness's suite as she should have been, considering she was Litchfield's new bride. But then, she hadn't expected she would be.

The wedding was over and she was married. Well, almost married. The vows had not been consummated and never would be. She would never be Lucien's wife and, in truth, it was just as well. She might be in love with him, but he would never return that love. He wanted a sweet, docile wife like Allison Hartman. Kathryn was hardly that. He disapproved of her studies, couldn't understand her determination to learn more about illness and healing, yet it was something that consumed her, something she would never be able to give up.

Kathryn crossed the room and sat down in the window seat, listening to the sound of the icy rain that tapped against the panes. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the awful scene in the chapel, see the tears in Allison Hartman's eyes and the anger on Lucien's face.

"The worst is past," the d.u.c.h.ess had said as Kathryn and Aunt Winnie had led her out of the chapel. "It's a shame it happened as it did, but it's over now and done. From now on, things can only get better."

Kathryn shook her head. "He hates me. I ruined his plans to marry Lady Allison and shamed him in front of his friends. Lucien will never forgive me."

"You did what you thought you had to. Perhaps in time-"

"I was wrong. No matter what might have happened to me, I shouldn't have done it-not to him. Not after all he's done to help me."

Velvet laid a hand on Kathryn's shoulder. "Lucien wasn't in love with Allison Hartman. He told me that himself. And I don't believe she was in love with him. Give him some time, Kathryn. He cares for you; he has from the start. Perhaps in time he'll be able to put all of this behind him."

Kathryn felt a fresh stab of pain. It had occurred so many times since the wedding it was almost a constant throbbing. "I betrayed him. I didn't want to, but I did. I only wish there was a way I could make it up to him."

Aunt Winnie marched into the bedchamber just then, ending her reflections and bringing Kathryn to her feet. Still gowned in mauve silk, her silver-blond hair glinting in the firelight, Winnie bustled across the room with a smile and a sense of command Kathryn welcomed. At least she could still count on Aunt Winnie.

"Come now, dearest," she said. "Time to get you out of those clothes. After all, this is your wedding night."

Kathryn felt a sharp jolt up under her ribs. Unexpected tears welled and spilled over onto her cheeks. She tried to brush them away, but Winnie saw them.

"There, there, child. You mustn't cry-not tonight. If all goes well, by the morrow, at least a portion of my nephew's anger will have faded."

Kathryn's head came up. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the marriage bed. There is no better place to soothe a man's ire." She smiled. "You will see."

Kathryn stared off toward the window. "There isn't going to be a wedding night. This is a marriage of convenience. A year from now, our wedding will be annulled and the marquess will marry someone else."

Winnie waved her words away. "Nonsense, my dear. You are his wife and exactly the right woman for him. Besides, you are in love with him. You couldn't possibly wish for him to wed someone else."

Kathryn swayed on suddenly unsteady limbs. She reached out and caught hold of the bedpost. "I'm not... not in love with him and he is certainly not in love with me. He loathes the very sight of me. He will hardly be coming to my bed."

Aunt Winnie frowned. "That is the trouble with my nephew." She turned Kathryn around and started on the b.u.t.tons at the back of her cream silk gown. "One never really knows what he is thinking."

But it was only a matter of minutes until Kathryn found out. A knock came at the door and a footman appeared carrying a silver salver, a note folded and perched on the top, addressed in a man's bold hand.

"What does it say?" Winnie asked, peering over her shoulder.

Kathryn nervously opened the note and read her husband's words. "Prepare yourself. Tonight I intend to claim what you so eagerly offered at the lodge." It was signed simply "Litchfield."

Kathryn's stomach knotted. "Dear G.o.d," she whispered, hardly aware she had spoken. The marquess was furious that he had been duped into marriage. Now he meant to claim his husbandly rights whether she was willing or not.

She stared up at Winnie DeWitt. "He... he means to have a wedding night, just as you said." Kathryn sank down on the padded velvet bench at the foot of the bed, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her.

Aunt Winnie simply smiled. "Well, there you have it, then. There will be no annulment and in time everything is going to work out."

But it wouldn't work out. Not after what had happened in the chapel. Not when it was obvious how much the marquess despised her. Not when he only wanted to punish her for duping him into marriage.

But Kathryn didn't say the words. What happened between them was no one else's concern. And whatever punishment Lucien intended to mete out, she well and truly deserved. She would submit to him, if that was what he wanted. She owed him at least that and more.

Swallowing back her fears, Kathryn let Aunt Winnie help her into a filmy pale blue silk night rail that appeared from among the woman's apparently limitless wardrobe, then sat down on the tapestry stool in front of the gilded mirror while Winnie removed the pins from her hair.

"Is there anything you would like to ask, my dear?" Winnie took the silver-backed hairbrush and stroked it through Kathryn's dark hair, spreading it out around her shoulders.

Kathryn's hand was shaking. She rested it against her thigh to still the movement. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Winnie bent and kissed Kathryn's cheek. "My nephew can be a hard man at times and he is not one who easily forgives. Try not to judge him too harshly for whatever might happen tonight."

Kathryn suppressed a s.h.i.+ver. Sometime tonight, Lucien would come. He meant to take what he wanted and there would be no tenderness in his touch this time, no kisses so hot they made her weak and light-headed. He would use her body as he pleased, take his pleasure and leave, and if she tried to stop him, the consequences would only be worse.

Kathryn fought back her growing despair, so mired in misery she didn't hear the sound of Aunt Winnie's departure, only the soft thud of the door as it closed, leaving her alone to await her fate.

Hours pa.s.sed. The tension grew until Kathryn found herself jumping at every sound. A mouse in the walls, the creak of the rafters, the sc.r.a.ping of the branches against the panes. Still he did not come.

She paced for a while, until fatigue set in and her legs began to feel shaky. She lay down on top of the covers, but didn't dare fall asleep. Instead, she lay like a stone, listening for Litchfield's footfalls, her stomach tied in knots.

Another hour pa.s.sed. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle and bone. If he hadn't arrived by now, surely he wasn't going to come. Her eyelids had begun to drift closed when the door flew wide and Lucien walked in.

Kathryn's eyes snapped open and her heart began to thunder. In the light of the single candle still burning beside the bed, she could see that his coat and cravat were gone, his white lawn s.h.i.+rt open nearly to the waist, exposing a hard chest and a mat of curly black hair. His hair was slightly mussed and hung in loose waves to his shoulders.

He closed the door solidly behind him and the sound rang like a death knell.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting, beloved." The way he said the word, without the least sincerity, made her inwardly cringe. Lucien walked toward her and it was obvious from his dishevel that he had been drinking. Still, he didn't look all that drunk. When he paused at the foot of the bed, a little skitter of fear tripped along her spine. His eyes ran over her body, taking in the sheer blue silk gown and unconsciously Kathryn's hands came up to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

A fine black brow arched up. "The blus.h.i.+ng bride? Surely you have not turned shy all of a sudden. As I recall, the last time we were together you weren't shy at all." He rounded the end of the bed and paused beside her. Kathryn shrank away from the hard look in his eyes. "Ah, but that night you were pretending."

Kathryn frowned, confused by the words.

He ran a finger along her jaw. "Perhaps you can do so tonight. Perhaps it will make things easier."

She drew her legs up beneath her, curling into herself protectively and wis.h.i.+ng she could find the strength to run. She didn't like this Lucien. She didn't know him and she was afraid. "What... what are you talking about?"

He flashed a smile that really wasn't, his teeth gleaming white in the light of the candle. "I'm talking about enjoying the body I have purchased with my future. Remove your clothes, Kathryn, so that I may see what my devil's bargain has wrought."

A s.h.i.+ver of dread ran through her. Who was this man she had once called friend? This man who had kissed her with such fierce tenderness? Shaking her head, she inched away until her back pressed into the carved wooden headboard. Her eyes found his in the flickering light. They looked cold and unrelenting. Kathryn's nails dug into the palms of her hands.

"I realize you are angry," she said. "You have every right to be. I was wrong in what I did. I was so afraid my uncle would find me I was willing to do anything to save myself. It was selfish, I know. I thought that in time it would all work out. I was wrong and I'm sorry. If I had it to do again, I would not do what I did."

"What you did?" His eyes turned even harder. "But you didn't do anything, my dear. You merely pretended to. That is the reason I am here. This time, I mean to take what you pretended to offer." He reached for her, grabbed hold of her gown, twisted it in a fist, and ripped it viciously down the front.

Kathryn shrieked and tried to scoot farther back, but there was no place to go. Trying in vain to cover herself, she huddled nearly naked against the headboard, staring up at him, unable to believe this cold, unfeeling man was the same man who had kissed her so pa.s.sionately that night at the lodge.

"I mean to have you, Kathryn. You may as well resign yourself."

She wildly shook her head, her whole body trembling. Fear ate at her. She had meant to submit, but now she found that she could not. The anger seething from Lucien's hard body brought the sting of tears.

"Not like this," she whispered. "Please, Lucien, not like this."

Something s.h.i.+fted in his features. He paused in the act of unb.u.t.toning his fly. Kathryn glanced down, saw that he was hard and straining against the tight dark blue fabric, and heat burned into her cheeks.

"You are the one who made this bargain," he said, his eyes scorching into hers. "You pretended to feel pa.s.sion before. You can do so again."

Surprise jolted through her, dispelling some of her fear. "Pretended? You think I was pretending that... that night at the lodge?"

He paused on another b.u.t.ton and glanced up. "You are saying that you were not?"

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Her chest felt tight and an ache throbbed near her heart. "I sent the letter to Bishop Tallman. I meant for it to appear as though you had compromised my virtue, but what happened between us that night, I was not... It was not... I was not pretending." She blinked and glanced away, no longer willing to face him. "When you kissed me," she whispered, "when you touched me... it was magic."