A Properly Conducted Sham (Most Imprudent Matches #5)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

BENNET HALL, SURREY - JUNE 12, 1816

CHARLOTTE

I was tempted to remain in the bath until my fingers and toes pruned and the water froze over. Every minute I remained swirling my hands through the sudsy water was a delay of the inevitable.

Supper.

Supper followed by marital congress.

The thought filled me with substantially less trepidation than it had on my last wedding night.

I knew what to expect, at least. And there was Lord Champaign, a significant improvement over my late husband by any measure.

But no one had touched me since Wesley. Wesley, whom I had longed for through the frigid months and years of my marriage. Wesley with his quick wit, bright eyes, and dimpled smile. Wesley, who promised me the world and then tossed me aside.

I was once a girl of silly fantasies. Memories that cut like swords had shredded that girl; Charlotte Hasket, Duchess of Rosehill was never to be. Instead, I became The Right Honorable Lady James, long before I had finished mourning the duchess that never was. But The Right Honorable Lady James was married to a repugnant frog.

And there was Wesley, waiting in the wings with a quip and a look to save her from the frog who would never become a prince.

For two long years, Wesley Parker had been my confidant, my friend, and the love of my life. And when, finally, finally Ralph left this mortal coil, it was our time. I had waited two years, I could bear the requisite months of mourning before wedding the man of my dreams. The only man who had never disappointed me.

And when he pulled me away from the ballroom, offering me the most sinful vows of pleasure beyond my wildest imaginings, well… perhaps the waiting was not so essential after all. What difference would a few months make? This was Wesley . Wesley, who had waited years for me, years when there had been no hope at all. And Wesley would never reject me, take me for granted, or abandon me. He had waited for me . It would be cruel to make him wait a moment longer. Especially when he made such lustful promises of ecstasy.

Tonight I would feel another’s touch. Lord Champaign had offered no promises of earthly pleasures beyond those required in the marriage rights. I couldn’t say I was anticipating our joining. But it could not possibly be as awful as Ralph’s touch—with his sweaty, sticky fingers that made my skin crawl, and the port heavy on his muggy breath raining over my face as he worked in and above me. Those would not be a concern tonight.

My husband… His hands had been soft and dry when he slid the ring on my finger that morning. And he always smelled of peppermints. Always.

He was quite handsome, as well, even with the scars. Or perhaps because of them. They were real, human, in a way his ethereal eyes and towering presence were not.

Yes, he was quite handsome and quite strange. He never reacted the way he ought, the way other men did. It seemed he was petrified of crowds but made time for the social event of the season. The carriage discomfited him, but his conveyance was the finest I’d ever seen. He was seemingly immune to my charms, such as they were, but wed me all the same.

I could do this. I had to do this. That very morning, I had vowed to do this.

I had all but convinced myself to abandon the bath—I truly had—when a knock filled the room.

No, not a knock—digging or tapping? I thrashed round in the bath water, turning toward the door, toward the direction the sound came from. My heart slammed in my throat.

The mahogany door, with its intricate floral carvings I hadn’t yet admired, rattled in its frame. It continued, three or four of the strange digging, tapping sounds while the door wriggled, then ceased before beginning again.

A gasp escaped me as the movement stopped and the door swung open. It was a few inches, nothing more. My scream caught in my throat, knotted there.

I waited, breath bated, for someone to enter.

And when they did, my breath escaped in a rush, spent air abandoning my lungs at once.

Less than a foot from the floor, a pair of yellow-green eyes blinked at me with interest. A cat, small and gray with black stripes and spots, twitched its tail at me.

A simple little barn cat of no particular breeding, it chirped a greeting before striding over to my copper basin. The thing hopped up onto its back paws, stretching impossibly long to rest its front paws on the edge of my tub. It was too short to see over the ledge, but I couldn’t help but peer down at it, easing its curiosity with my own.

“Hello.”

It chirped again, almost more birdlike than catlike. Seemingly satisfied with its inspection of my person, it dropped back down onto all fours and prowled the room. It made one circuit, then a second before approaching the screen where my evening dress hung. After a glance back at me, it directed its attention to the gown, hopped up on its back paws again, and sank its claws into the fine purple silk.

With a wordless shriek, I shoved myself to standing in the tub, wobbling precariously.

I was so distracted I never heard the clang of the other door, the one connecting my room and my husband’s room. And I missed the panicked footsteps racing through the bedroom into the sitting room over the sloshing of the water.

I did, however, hear the masculine, “Char—Oh.”

Unthinkingly, I spun toward him, heedless of my transparent shift.

And promptly slipped on the slick surface of the wet tub. My hands flew out to catch me instinctively and my eyes slammed shut as I braced for pain.

But it never came.

Rather, a massive arm found my waist and an equally massive hand caught my elbow. Blinking, I found my husband, eyes wide with terror, frantically searching my face for… something.

A beat. Two. Three. We remained frozen. And then the little urchin behind me dragged its claws down my gown once again, the fabric catching audibly on nails every few stitches.

His “Cass, no!” was nearly inaudible over my screech. Instinctively, his hand left my waist to stop the beast. My feet slipped again, and his hand slammed back onto my hip, gripping even tighter.

When I turned back, his attention was no longer on my face. Instead, it was drawn to the nearly invisible sopping fabric of my shift, clinging to my breasts. His eyes were wide with something, lust perhaps, at the swell of my bosom, or revulsion at the swell of my belly. There was no way to know.

He swallowed thickly, steadying me once again before loosening his hold. “Are you well?” His breath washed over me, cool and dry and peppermint-scented.

I nodded.

“In or out?” He tilted his head between the tub and the, presumably safer, ground before him.

“Out.” He helped me over the tub’s edge and steadied me before grabbing the thick woven linen that Imogen had piled nearby. He unfolded it and held it before him, then wrapped me in it and his arms by extension.

There we stayed for a moment, and I breathed in his fresh scent, enjoying the way my stomach’s perpetual rolling ceased.

Scritch! My husband’s arms abandoned me. He strode toward the cat and scooped it up in one arm. “Cassiopeia, stop that this instant.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Something like that. I am so sorry. I’ll give it to Brigsby, see if he can repair the damage.”

There was no repairing that damage, not on shot silk. A sharp retort hovered at the end of my tongue, but something about the sheepish expression on the oversize man cradling a minuscule ball of fluff to his chest made it impossible to snap at him. I released my irritation in a sigh. “So you have a cat?”

“Sort of? I found her caught in a tree. Lord, it was probably a decade ago. I pulled her down and she just… never left. She’s impossible to keep out of places. Doors are a personal challenge. Though, I thought this one secure. She’s never tried her luck with it before.”

“Possibly due to a lack of motivation, rather than capability.”

“So it would seem. I’ll just… take her.” He nodded toward the adjoining door.

“All right then.”

He paused at the threshold, arms still full of cat. “I’ll… see you in a little while? At supper.”

At my affirmation, he tipped the door open with a foot and slid in, before kicking it closed behind him. Through the door I heard him speaking to someone, his tone lecturing… Was he scolding the cat?

My husband was quite strange indeed.