The Reluctant Bride Collection Read online

  He said, “I believe you’ve finally stopped thinking.”

  “No. I’m thinking I suppose we really are married.”

  “Before man and God.”

  She looked at him for a long moment then blew out her breath. “Are you any good at this sort of thing?”

  He resisted the temptation to fling her over his shoulder and show her at once. “I like to think so.”

  “I will admit that you seem to be quite expert at kissing.”

  He grinned. “Why thank you, my dear. Shall we go upstairs, then?”

  She nodded. “I am quite tired of being hand-fed.”

  “I liked it. Perhaps you should feed me sometime.”

  “Hmm. I might enjoy that better.”

  He stood and took her hand. “Ah. Why does it surprise me that you like to be in charge? I will have to remember that for another night. But if you will, my dear, allow me to lead in this dance just this once.”

  “It goes against the grain.”

  He laughed. “I know but you must bow to superior knowledge.”

  “I will warn you that if I don’t think you’re doing it properly I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

  He was quiet a long, long time. “Amelia. . .” He cleared his throat. “If I am not doing it properly I give my hearty approval for you to do it yourself. I’d like to watch.”

  Her look of incomprehension merely made him stop and kiss her hard. “But I will do my utmost to make the experience worthy of your standards.”

  “You are a rake and a womanizer. I expect if anyone can make this a pleasurable experience it will be you.”

  He muttered to himself, “No pressure, old chap.”

  They arrived at the bedchamber door and he opened it with a flourish. “Shall I carry you across this threshold as well?”

  “No, once was plenty. It is not as funny as you think to pretend to trip.”

  “Why don’t you carry me across?”

  She entered and began undoing her garments. “Oh, Jameson. Do shut up and get on with it.”

  He followed her in, grinning, and closed the door with a soft click.

  The morning dawned bright and clear, at least outside. Amelia’s head pounded and she felt as if she was roasting alive inside the thick covers. Alcohol was the culprit behind her headache. This was the first time she’d overindulged to such an extent, and while she’d appreciated the fuzziness it had offered last night, this morning she vowed to meet her problems and fears head on. Which brought her to the man she lay sleeping next to.

  He was a furnace! It was as if she was sleeping inside a fire, he was so hot. And while it may not be quite the thing to actually sleep with one’s spouse, she could foresee herself sneaking into his bed late at night to warm herself up.

  Undoubtedly, in more ways than one.

  She smiled, congratulating herself on the excellent bed-partner her husband had turned out to be. She had said it before and she would say it again, the man was capable. She still felt tingly all over. Last night he had energetically explored every inch of her and now that it was daylight and the shock had worn off, she felt like returning the favor.

  She lifted the covers to take a peek. She had a wonderful view of his backside, from his neck to his toes. And she couldn’t suppress the shiver of delight that warmed her as she looked at all that golden, muscle-filled skin.

  She had never thought the male of the species particularly praise-worthy; they were entirely too much trouble. But she would admit to herself that her husband was indeed one of the more beautiful specimens. And if she was to be shackled to one, it might as well be one she enjoyed looking at. Perhaps Clarice had been right in that regards.

  She pressed herself against his backside from toe to breast and sniffed his neck. There was some indefinable smell that was Jameson and oh. . . right here. . .

  She inhaled again, closing her eyes, and tasting his scent in the back of her nose.

  His chest rumbled as he said in a craggy, sleep-filled voice, “I do sincerely hope you have not grown sharp teeth during the night and are thinking of eating me. You sound as if you are appreciating a good cut of beef.”

  “I am. You smell quite delicious.”

  “Aged well?”

  “Mmm.”

  “That’s a relief. I would not want to offend my wife’s delicate olfactory senses on our second day of wedded bliss.”

  He turned, his hair tousled from sleep and his stubble defining his lower jaw. Her heart pitter-pattered at the sight.

  She steeled herself against the longing she felt to throw herself against him and said, “How disheveled you look. I had thought you rolled out of bed primped and perfect-looking.”

  “Oh, my dear. Already I have dashed your expectations. I fear it takes me hours to put Lord Nighting together.”

  “Do you ever wonder if it is worth all the trouble? You’ll just have to start again tomorrow.”

  He pulled her toward him until she laid pressed against him. “I only wonder if it is worth the trouble when there is something more entertaining to do.”

  “Do you think there is something more entertaining to do today?”

  He smiled. “That’s funny. I was going to ask the same of you.”

  She rolled on top of him, pulling the covers over their heads, and he grinned. “I wondered how long it would take before you insisted on leading here as well. I suppose it will ever be a surprise to see who lands on top in our bedsport.”

  “It does seem only fair for me to get my turn as well.”

  He nodded his acquiescence as she slid down his body. “Oh, absolutely. Lead on, my dear.”

  And Amelia was gratified to learn that Jameson was susceptible to her sharp tongue, after all.

  After a short honeymoon in the country, they returned to town. The country was all well and good but they both enjoyed the entertainments of London too much. He to preen and she to dispense much-needed advice.

  Jameson came in from a fruitful day of being seen and admired, and pecked her cheek. “My dear, I believe I’m in a spot of trouble.”

  Amelia set her cup of tea down gently and raised her eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me, one week after our marriage, that you have gambled away my dowry, are having trouble with a past mistress, or will be dueling with some fool over a slight about our hasty marriage.”

  Jameson coughed back a laugh. “Quite right, my dear. It’s none of those– at least I don’t think so.”

  He looked at her stern face and laughed again. “It’s just I was followed in town today. Three separate men followed me for a short time, then disappeared.” He’d been quite put out that none had stayed to play.

  “Followed you? Are you sure?”

  “I assure you, my dear, they were not hard to miss, and it’s not that common of an occurrence. I have a distressingly boring habit of paying my bills.” He fingered his waistcoat. “A happy tradesman is a fast tradesman.”

  “You do have strange philosophies, my dear. But I do not like the thought of you being followed. Perhaps you should take care for a while; keep Robin with you, or a footman if you must.”

  “I was thinking the same of you. You’ve not noticed any strange fellows following you about?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. Were they ruffians?”

  “Gentlemen.”

  “That’s even stranger. I shall take care.” She rose. “I am off to visit Clarice.” She held up a hand to forestall his objections. “Yes, I will take a footman.”

  Jameson made a face. “Better you than me. Will she even see you?”

  “Of course she will see me. We must come to terms. I still have every intention of finding her a suitable husband and the season is rapidly coming to a close.”

  “I will warn you, Amelia. She is more vicious than she seems.”

  “Since she seems as vicious as a sparrow that is not saying much. I shall take care to protect my lower extremities.”

  He glared at her. “You
are not funny at all.”

  She suppressed her smile and kissed him on the cheek. “No, my dear. I leave that for you.”

  Despite her assurances, Amelia was not at all certain Clarice would see her. And indeed, she was turned away at the door. Normally, this would not trouble her overmuch but the butler looked down at her and said, “It is of no use, my lady. I have strict instructions that you, specifically, shall not gain entrance.”

  Amelia was quite taken aback. First, at being denied entrance and second, at how direct the butler was in informing her of that.

  Since she was in a perpetual good mood, largely in thanks to Jameson and his night-time activities, she declared her loss a good show on Clarice’s part. The girl was becoming quite the worthy opponent.

  However, one may win the battle without winning the war. And Clarice, though learning quickly, was still young, with little experience in protracted skirmishes. To Amelia’s view, society was nothing if not one long protracted skirmish.

  Amelia had the footman, really they did come in handy, pay a boy to watch the Underwood house and come inform her when the young lady left. Clarice would be giddy with her victory and one does not stay home in solitude when one is giddy.

  And indeed, Amelia did not have to wait long before the footman, via information from the boy, informed her that Clarice had gone shopping. Amelia quickly gave chase and ran poor Miss Underwood down at a perfumery.

  “Oh, Miss Underwood, is this where you buy your delightful scent? Apricot, is it?”

  Clarice squeaked and whirled around to gape at Amelia.

  Amelia said, “I prefer cloves, it has more of a bite to it.”

  Clarice finally schooled her face and turned away from her, giving her the cut direct.

  Amelia looked around the nearly empty shop and chuckled. “That only works when there are others to see you do it. And having been the recipient of it before, I assure you I am immune to the slight. Perhaps if I felt I deserved it, it would hurt more.”

  Clarice whirled back towards her. “You do deserve it and more.”

  “I’m sorry we disagree on the point. Perhaps you would like to discuss it in a more private setting?”

  Clarice looked around the shop. “You were just saying how empty it was here.”

  “True, but I have recently been introduced to the therapeutic benefits of a good rant. I am inviting you to my home to have at it, Clarice. Tell me, in as heated a tone as you can muster, how awful I am and what I have done to you.”

  Clarice looked at her with bewilderment. “You are a strange creature.” She shook her head. “But I have no desire to run into him.”

  Amelia blinked in confusion, then laughed at herself. “Oh, yes. I had forgotten I have a new home. What I meant, then, was my mother’s home; have you any objection to that domicile?”

  After a little thought, Clarice apparently decided that she did want to give Amelia a good what for and they rode in silence to Lady Beckham’s. Clarice stared out the window and Amelia let her gather her thoughts. It was not everyday that one was invited to air built up grievances.

  Her mother greeted her and Clarice warmly, if not a little surprised at the company. But she kindly let them use the library and left them to it. Amelia made herself comfortable, waving Clarice to begin.

  After a few minutes silence, in which Clarice could not put away her good manners, Amelia said, “I married him.”

  Clarice sprang to her feet. “You married him. Was that your goal the whole time? Did you put it into his head to ruin me? Humiliate me? To leave me a sad story and then befriend me? Was anything you ever told me true!”

  She paced around the room, ranting and raving. At times she was quite unflattering of Amelia’s womanly attributes, but nothing she said was untrue, or indeed anything Amelia had not overheard on occasion.

  Amelia was gratified that none of Clarice’s hurt came from her undying love for Jameson. Most came from the fact that Amelia had, to Clarice’s mind, tricked her and fooled her. So Amelia listened, and tried hard not to feel the sting.

  When Clarice finally wound down, she slumped into her seat, not looking Amelia in the eye.

  Amelia took a deep breath. “There is nothing I can say that will make you believe me but I had no intention of marrying Jameson. I told you the truth when I said he was unfit for marriage. He wore me down, truthfully. Because, I suspect, I am also unfit for marriage and together we somehow might make it work.

  “As for your other accusation, I had no hand in Jameson’s breaking of your engagement. Not that I think it shouldn’t have been done but because I flatter myself that I could have done it with considerably less drama.”

  Clarice sniffed.

  “Miss Underwood. . . Clarice. I am sorry beyond words that you have been hurt by our marriage. I hope one day you can forgive us. Or, at least me. Jameson can offer his own apology; although I would not expect it soon. He is quite afraid of you, much to my amusement.”

  Clarice looked up and the bitterness and anger in her eyes told Amelia what she was going to say before the words left her mouth. “Forgive you? Not even the most spiteful, underhanded back-biter could have damaged my prospects as thoroughly as you and Lord Nighting. He, my betrothed. And you, my friend. I do not forgive you.”

  “I do have every hope of finding you a much better husband than the one you were deprived of.”

  “Lady Amelia, I do not want your help. I wish I had never heard of you or of Lord Nighting.”

  Clarice stood and left the room. Amelia stayed where she was until her mother came in.

  “That did not go well, I presume?”

  “No.” Amelia shook her head and sighed. “I feel ill. I do quite like her; I never thought what our marrying would do to her.”

  Her mother nodded. “Poor Miss Underwood. It is an unfortunate situation. But one that I think is for the best.”

  Amelia looked in surprise at her mother. “Do you really think so?”

  Her mother smiled and cupped her cheek. “He makes you happy. If I had known how happy you two would be together, I would have sacrificed Miss Underwood myself.”

  “But you thought he should have married her and that they would have been happy.”

  “I was wrong. I do not think Jameson would have been happy with a woman who couldn’t deal with his need to express himself.”

  Amelia snorted. “That is one way of putting it.”

  “And I do not think you would have been happy with a man who couldn’t deal with your need to make everyone around you happy.”

  Amelia gaped at her mother. “Happy!”

  “Yes, happy. You see what needs to be done to make someone happy and you do it. I have no doubt that despite Miss Underwood’s anger at you, you have every intention of doing all you can to find her a husband.”

  “Well. . .”

  Her mother leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’m sure Miss Underwood will find her happy union, if you have anything to say about it. Now go home to your husband. I have need of my library.”

  Nine

  Jameson was not at home when she arrived, which was not unexpected. But he did not arrive in time to dress for dinner, nor was he in residence when she went down to the dining room.

  A budding fear, quickly followed by a raging anger engulfed her. He told her he would be careful! Did he not take a footman or enlist Robin’s company? Men were following him and he laughed it off.

  She paced the length of the table, envisioning Jameson lying in a gutter. Or a knife sticking out of his back. A wave of nausea hit her and she sat with a thud.

  She was happy! He could not be taken from her now, not now that she knew what it was to feel like this. To be part of someone so completely that the loss of him would destroy her.

  Was this love? Was this horrible neediness love?

  Her head jerked up as the doors were opened and Jameson and Robin were led laughing into the dining room. Bruises and blood covered their faces. Their clothes were dirty and
ripped. They were most definitely drunk.

  Amelia rushed to them. “Jameson! Robin! What has happened!”

  The butler settled both men into chairs. “I believe they have been in a brawl, my lady.”

  “I believe it of Jameson, but Robin, what were you doing in a brawl?”

  “I was defending your honor. And we beat the stuffing out of them, too. You should have seen us, Amelia. We were extraordinary!”

  “You must have been extraordinarily drunk.”

  Robin snickered. “We needed something to dull the pain.”

  Jameson snickered back. “Too right.”

  “You were defending my hon–”

  Amelia’s face turned red and she jabbed a finger into Jameson’s chest. “Is this about that stupid bet?”

  “My dear, you are my wife. It is my duty to beat the tar out of any whelp who questions your honor.”

  “You were the one who started that bet in the first place!”

  Jameson’s eyes cleared a little as he realized the danger he was in. He glowered at Robin. “I know it is deuced hard to keep secrets from her, old friend, but you could’ve left that part out.”

  Robin slurred, “She’s too tricky.”

  Jameson moved to take her in his arms, then noticed the blood covering his clothing and thought better of it. “My dear, there were so many rumors and whispers at the time that I thought a bet would take some poison out of it.”

  “And tonight?”

  “Those young whelps that have been following me thought they could accost us and take back their losses. For some reason they thought I benefited unfairly since I was the one reporting whether you were untouched on our wedding night or not. It wasn’t likely I would say you were spoiled.”

  Amelia blinked. She stared stupidly at him for moment, then sat abruptly. “And you. . . you won because I was still a virgin?”

  He nodded. “Though there were some who chose not to believe me. Robin and I simply had to insist.” He shrugged. “They chose to believe filthy rumors and make a stupid bet.”

  In a very small voice she said, “You bet I was still a virgin?”

  “I would never bet against you, my dear.”