Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Seven

“T homas, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?”

As Papa intoned the age-old vows, Honoria could scarcely pay attention to the words, so intent was she on not trembling or having her teeth chatter. It wasn’t cold in the church, but she could have stood in the blazing sun and shivered. She was marrying an almost complete stranger, and however good and honorable he seemed to be, she couldn’t bring herself to accept the situation.

Except she must. Papa was now charging her .

“Honoria, wilt though have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?”

What if she simply said “No?” Papa had told her privately he wouldn’t make her marry Lord Braeton. But Mama had made it known, in her special tone that was tantamount to a command, that should she refuse his lordship’s offer, it could go very badly for her father. If the scandal got out, if Lord Danford told lies about her in London, then Papa might very well lose his living. With no other source of income, the family would become destitute almost overnight.

Lord Braeton had assured them that once Honoria became his wife, Lord Danford would not dare disparage her reputation. If he did so, he would undergo a challenge from her husband, which he surely would not risk. After that revelation, Mama’s words had been clear. Honoria couldn’t simply think of her own feelings. And as there was nothing at all objectionable about Lord Braeton’s offer, Honoria must do her duty.

“Honoria?” Lord Braeton’s gentle but urgent word snapped her back to the present. “You must answer the charge, my dear.”

Yes, she must. Throwing back her head, she stared into her father’s eyes and said, “I will.”

The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur, save for the almost comic moment when Papa had asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” and then, flustered, said, “Oh, my word, that is me.” The next thing she knew, her mother was wishing her happy, and she and Lord Braeton were signing the register.

The small wedding breakfast in the vicarage afterward seemed just as unreal. The party was small, only her immediate family, Lord Braeton’s friend, Lord Longford, who had stood up with him, and Lord and Lady Rochdale, Lord Braeton’s sister and brother-in-law. They had all congratulated Honoria, and Lady Rochdale had been sweet and warm in her address to her new sister-in-law. Still, though Honoria smiled and nodded and made the correct responses to everyone—at least she hoped they were the right things to say—she couldn’t make herself believe she was now married to a man she did not know.

Once the guests had left, Honoria sat down in the green parlor chair, her legs too wobbly to hold her up any longer. She’d not eaten a bite all day, even though her mother, sisters, and even Lord Braeton had brought her small plates filled with dainties throughout the breakfast. Smiling, she’d accepted the food, but managed to hide all of it in strategic places around the room. The way her stomach roiled, she doubted she’d ever eat again.

“My lady?”

Frowning, Honoria looked around. Lady Rochdale had already departed, so who—

Lord Braeton was looking directly at her, a slight smile touching his lips. “Yes, I mean you, Lady Braeton.”

Dear Lord. She had a title now, so she’d best try to act like it. Instead of giving in to the sudden weakness in her knees, Honoria raised her chin and nodded. “I am sorry, my lord, but I’m afraid it will take some getting used to.”

He chuckled and took her arm, helping her rise, then twining it through his elbow. “I’m sure it will, my dear. Ladies have such a trial when they wed, having to get used to being called by a completely new name, with a new household to run, new staff to become acquainted with.” He patted her hand. “I am certain you will do just fine once you get your bearings.”

While she pondered that compliment, he led her toward the front door, where she found her family lined up to tell her goodbye and wish her well. “The carriage is ready, my dear. We must begin our journey soon if we are to arrive at Braeton House in time for dinner.”

Honoria nodded and moved to kiss her father’s cheek. Her husband had informed her last evening that they would only travel back to London after the wedding, then the next morning begin the journey to his primary seat in West Sussex, Knowlton’s Keep. Why they were not staying in London she’d not had the courage to ask. Perhaps he would tell her on the way.

“May you have all the happiness in the world, Honoria.” Papa kissed her cheek and hugged her close. “I believe he is a good man, my dear,” he whispered in her ear. “I hope you will find him so.”

She sent up a prayer her father’s words would be correct, then moved to her mother. All too soon, she hugged her youngest brother and turned back to Lord Braeton. Putting her best foot forward, she forced herself to smile and said, “I am ready, my lord.”

His return smile almost took her breath away, though it was neither wide nor particularly bright. The right corner of his mouth quirked upward just enough to be called a grin, as though he wanted to smile, but was being lazy about it. It was thoroughly charming and stopped Honoria as she reached to take his arm. He chuckled and assisted her by securing her arm in his. “Then let us be off. Mr. Quinn, Mrs. Quinn.” He bowed formally. “Thank you for your hospitality to me and my wife. I promise to return soon so I may become better acquainted with her family.”

Then he led her to the carriage, assisted her in, and they were off. Pressing her face against the cool windowpane, she kept watching her childhood home until it was swallowed up by the streets of Lower Clapham. She leaned back in her seat, suddenly very aware of her husband sitting next to her on the tufted black leather seat.

The silence between them stretched out for several minutes until Honoria began to panic. The tension of not talking seemed worse than actually talking together. They needed to learn to carry on a conversation, and there was nothing else to do during this ride back to London. Taking a deep breath, Honoria opened her mouth and prayed for divine guidance. “We will be staying only the one night in London, you said last evening, my lord?”

His brows rose, but he nodded. “Yes, I thought it best that you not be fatigued before we set off for Sussex. A good night’s sleep will make the journey easier.”

Oh, this was not the first conversation she wanted to have with him. But he’d brought up the most pertinent question for her: would she indeed get that good night’s sleep? It was their wedding night. From what she’d gathered from things she’d overheard at various parties and from her mother’s halting explanation last night, rest was not something a bride could count on during her wedding night. “That is kind of you, my lord.”

“There is something I would ask of you, my lady.” He had turned toward her, regarding her with eager eyes.

Her mouth dried as though she’d taken a mouthful of sand. What was he going to ask her to do?

“Will you please allow me to call you Honoria? I believe it will help as we get to know one another.”

The breath whooshed out of her lungs as relief spread through her like cool water on a hot day. “Of course, my lord. I should have asked you to do so before now.” There had been no time to think of such things when she hadn’t been sure she would actually marry him. “Please do call me Honoria.”

“I am honored, Honoria.” That lazy smile came out again, making her melt a little inside. “I would be pleased if you would call me Thomas.”

“Of course, my l—” She clamped her gloved hands over her mouth.

He laughed and drew her hands away. “Try again.”

“I beg your pardon, Thomas .” She laughed, too, and the knot in the middle of her stomach loosened just a bit. He did seem kind. Given time, this marriage might turn out well.

“As I said before, you will have many changes you will need to become used to now you are married, such as using my first name when we are in private.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “We will get used to one another, though.”

Honoria drew her hands away, that word private reverberating in her head. Her mind kept circling back to it, and to the intimacies she would be required to endure when they were in private. Would she indeed be able to do it, to submit to her husband when he came to her bed tonight? The words sent a cold chill down her spine. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Lord Braeton, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, his mouth set in a firm line. Not a man she wished to cross, but not one she wanted in her bed either. Not yet, at least. Given time to know him better and, perhaps, she would desire intimacy with him. But not tonight.

Gazing down at her hands, she clenched them into fists. She might have been coerced into this marriage, but she would not be forced into the bed of a stranger. Raising her chin, she summoned her courage and turned to stare into the warm, amber-colored eyes of the man next to her. “My lord, I must inform you that I cannot share your bed tonight.”

There it was. If her words angered him, so be it. She could deal with the anger better than the idea of submitting to his basest desires. She braced herself for the outpouring of wrath from her husband.

To her utmost surprise, he didn’t protest. Didn’t draw himself up to pontificate about the expected duties of a wife. He didn’t even frown. What he did do was cock his head and give her that slow, easy smile she found so charming. “Of course not, my dear. I would not expect you to, under the circumstances.”

Stupefied, Honoria almost fell off the seat. Her mouth dropped open although she couldn’t summon any words.

With a chuckle, he put a finger under her chin and closed her mouth. It made a silly little pop. “Have you been worrying about that all this time, Honoria?”

She nodded slowly, lowering her gaze as heat blazed in her cheeks. At the same time, relief so great she thought she might swoon washed over her. He was a kind man, who understood her sensibilities.

“Then I’m sorry I didn’t set your mind at ease before this,” Thomas patted her hands, “but I never seemed to find the right time when we were alone together. The day of our betrothal there were so many other things to think about and arrange. And once we arrived at your parents’ house, there were not many chances.” He looked truly remorseful. “I beg your pardon for any anguish my thoughtlessness has caused you.”

Relief made Honoria almost giddy. “You are most heartily forgiven, my lord.” She caught his eye and hastily added, “Thomas. I am happy we agree that we need more time to become acquainted before we….” The words seemed to stick in her throat. “Before we…”

His eyes seemed to laugh, though his mouth remained sober. “Before we indulge in our connubial rites.”

Again, her cheeks were aflame at the mention of the word.

“I do wish to know my bride better, my dear, and we will take some weeks at Knowlton’s Keep to do that very thing.” His eyes darkened to chestnut. “I want a willing wife to come to my bed, not merely a dutiful one and certainly not a frightened one.”

Thank goodness for that. “How long do you think…?”

He grasped her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “As long as it takes, my dear, and so,” he doffed his tall hat and relaxed back against the seat, “why don’t you tell me something of what your life was like growing up at the vicarage? It seems like a wonderful place to have raised a family.”

Bless this wonderful man. Eager to talk now her biggest fears had been allayed, Honoria launched into a tale about life as the daughter of a vicar in Lower Clapham, while the carriage wound its way through the tangled streets of London. She would gladly play Scheherazade for him, for a thousand nights if that was what it took. Should her husband continue to act so gallantly, however, she suspected the number of tales she needed to tell would be much lower. At least, she certainly hoped so.

Although Thomas had meant exactly what he said about putting off their wedding night, he’d come to realize rather quickly that embracing abstinence with Honoria so close at hand would be not simply a bit of a nuisance, but downright torture for him. He’d been stoically resigned to the marriage at the beginning. Honor had been his driving motivation until he’d seen Honoria enter the room. Not a great beauty, still her face was arresting. Heart-shaped, with smooth, creamy skin, and eyes the color of a cloudless summer’s day. Her generous mouth, with plump red lips, looked as though it should be kissed and often. A regimen he planned to implement quite soon. Thomas had dismissed Danford’s statement, “You haven’t seen her, Braeton. When you do, you’ll understand,” as the hyperbole of a man obsessed. Now he thought he understood something of Danford’s obsession.

To his surprise and relief, the carriage was nearing his London townhouse. He loved listening to his wife, whose animated storytelling had entertained him immensely for the past hour. But his proximity to her charms had taken a toll on his willpower. His groin ached every time he looked at the woman sitting next to him. Well, he’d need to relieve himself as soon as possible, lest he end up with the horn colic.

“I am sorry for nattering on so long, Thomas.” Honoria smiled at him, increasing his agony.

“Nonsense, my dear. I have enjoyed finding out about your childhood and your life at the vicarage.” He had been entertained, and immensely enjoyed the lilting sound of her voice.

“But we seem to have arrived at your townhouse, and I have yet to discover anything about you.” She made a little moue. Utterly charming.

“Do not fret. We have all of dinner for me to drone on about my growing-up years. Much less amusing than yours, I assure you.” The carriage halted in front of Braeton House and Thomas rose, with some difficulty. He only hoped Honoria didn’t discover the reason for his somewhat strained movements.

The groom opened the door, and Thomas hurried down the steps, then turned to assist his bride. Thankfully her gaze darted all about the stately marble facade towering three stories high and paid no mind to his halting gait as they headed for the entry door, which opened as if by magic when they neared the door.

“Welcome home, my lord.” Hawkins, his butler of five years, had an uncanny knack for opening the door just as Thomas approached it.

“Thank you, Hawkins. Lady Braeton, this is Hawkins, my butler here in London.” Fortunately, he’d told the servant of his impending nuptials and instructed the man to prepare the staff.

A deep bow from Hawkins, followed by a reverential, “Good afternoon, my lady.” The butler darted a questioning glance at Thomas, who nodded. “May I wish you both happy, my lord, my lady? The house has been rejoicing ever since I gave them the news.”

“Thank you, Hawkins.” Honoria smiled broadly at the butler, then glanced at Thomas. “Am I to meet the rest of the staff tonight or tomorrow morning?”

“I thought it best to wait until tomorrow before we leave. It has been a very busy day, my dear. You will need to conserve your strength.” Thomas shifted from one leg to the other. They needed to move along to their chambers rather quickly. He offered his arm. “Let me show you your apartments. Then you can rest until dinner, which is at eight.”

She placed her arm in his—more exquisite torture he’d never known—and they started up the front stairs to the first floor. He steered her toward the left gallery where the earl and countess’s chambers lay. “The countess’s rooms are just here.” He stopped at the first door on the right. “It is a suite with a boudoir, sitting room, dressing room, and bathing chamber.” He opened the door and led her inside. “It hasn’t been redecorated since before my mother died. When we return to London at the end of the Season, you may give instructions for its renovation to satisfy your taste.”

“Oh, Thomas, it is lovely just as it is.” His wife walked into the bedchamber, turning in a circle, trying to take in everything all at once. “I cannot believe this is to be my chamber.” Laughing, she headed for the tall cherry bed, took a running jump, and landed on the blue silk comforter.

A low groan escaped Thomas. Sight of her on the bed, while his cock was rock hard and painful, was simply too much. “I’ll send your maid to help you. Until dinner then.” He closed the door and sped two doors down to his chamber, praying his valet was not in evidence. Never before had he been so close to finishing without his characteristic control. He wrenched the door open, rushed to the necessary tearing at his fall as he fought to restrain himself. The memory of Honoria sitting on the bed like a siren, however, undid him completely. He made it as far as the washstand, then had to stop and spill himself into the basin.

Finally finished, he managed to wash up, then removed his soiled clothing, dropping it in a heap for Lockwood to take care of. Panting with all the effort, he padded to the sideboard and poured himself a large tot of brandy. Tossing down half of it, Thomas cherished the burn that settled pleasantly in his belly. Yes, his marriage was already proving more of a challenge than he’d ever considered. If he wasn’t to remain in a constant state of unsatisfied arousal, he’d better set out to woo Honoria to his bed in record time. Draining the glass, Thomas sighed. He had his work cut out for him.