Chapter Eleven
Margaret tried hard to compose herself. He was just saving her from a fall.
That was all. It meant nothing. Her mind knew that.
Now she just had to convince her body of that fact.
She breathed slowly and deeply, willing her heartbeat to slow down as she tried to ignore how it felt to lean into the hard muscles of his chest, how his arm felt wrapped around her waist and how his masculine scent had surrounded her.
This man does not want you. Yes, he kissed you once, but only because you gave him little option. He only wants your friendship, nothing more.
To distract herself, Margaret looked around the restaurant carriage, pretending to take great interest in her surroundings.
‘This is rather nice, isn’t it?’ she said in her best conversational voice as she took in the table laid in the manner one would expect in the best homes, with polished silverware, glinting crystal glasses and fine china laid out on a crisp white tablecloth.
Still avoiding looking at Jacob, she glanced around the carriage, at the wooden panels and polished brass trim glinting in the soft light of the gas lamps.
Her wandering gaze was arrested by the sight of the woman staring back at her from the darkened windows draped with maroon velvet curtains.
The woman smiling as if her life depended on it was her.
She looked such a ninny, and that was exactly how she felt, like a complete ninny, one who had overreacted to a meaningless gesture.
A ninny who had seen his behaviour as a gesture of affection, even of desire, and not just as a way of stopping her from falling flat on her face.
That rictus smile still plastered on her face, her gaze moved to her fellow passengers.
Several returned her smile, presumably thinking she was just a friendly young woman and not one so racked with nerves that her face had become frozen and she was doing everything she could to avoid looking at the man who was now her husband.
The waiter handed them menus and asked if they would like champagne.
‘Yes, please,’ she said immediately, then just as quickly wondered if that was a good idea. Would champagne soothe or increase her nervousness? Before she had answered that question, the waiter filled their glasses with the bubbly liquid.
‘Perhaps we should have a toast,’ Jacob said, raising his glass.
Margaret raised her eyebrows but not her glass. ‘To what? To forced marriage? To our plan for a fake engagement failing dismally? To finding ourselves in a situation neither of us wanted?’
‘Yes, to all three,’ he said, not lowering his glass but sending her a roguish smile that suggested he found everything, including this marriage, a big joke. ‘Or perhaps to making the best of things,’ he added.
‘You want to drink to making the best of a bad situation, which is our marriage?’
‘Yes. Or if that is too much to ask, then let’s just drink to friendship.’
Margaret knew she was being ungracious, so lifted her glass and lightly clinked it against his. ‘To friendship.’
She sipped her champagne as he opened his menu and scanned the contents.
He really was making an effort to try and make things easier for her, and surely it would not hurt her to do the same.
It was hardly his fault she was so attracted to him.
He could hardly be held responsible for being so damn good looking, so charming, so irresistible.
Nor was it his fault he had found himself in this unwanted marriage.
He could have refused to marry her, which so many other men would have done.
Instead, he had willingly, or perhaps not entirely willingly, sacrificed himself for her and they were now tied together till death us do part, as the vicar had said.
And he was right. There was nothing they could do about it now and they should make the best of things.
‘Thank you,’ she said, determined to do just that.
He looked up from the menu, his expression questioning. ‘For what?’
‘Well, for marrying me, I suppose.’
That questioning look did not go away.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so ill-tempered, blaming you for something that is not your fault.’
‘It’s been a shock for both of us. It’s only been a few weeks since we met. Everything has moved so fast, I think a bit of ill-temper is to be expected, from both of us.’
He really was being so much more gracious than she was, and he had not shown a hint of ill-temper at any time, even though he had ample reason to do so. Perhaps she should take her lead from him.
‘I apologise if I have ever suggested that you are a cad. You are most certainly not. And you couldn’t be more different from the Earl of Covington. If you were, you would never have let Father force you into this marriage.’
‘That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,’ he replied, that roguish smile once again quirking the edges of his lips.
She smiled back at him.
‘And I meant what I said when we made our vows,’ he added, causing her smile to fade and her brow to furrow in question. He could not possibly mean that he intended to love and cherish and certainly not the last of those three.
‘When I promised you at the altar that it will be all right, I meant it and will do everything in my power to make it so.’
She nodded. Of course he didn’t mean that he took his marriage vows seriously.
‘Thank you,’ she said, knowing she had no right to expect more than that. ‘And I will try to make this marriage as tolerable for you as I possibly can.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps we should suggest that be added to the wedding vows.’
‘Hmm, it might be a bit more honest than the ones we just made.’
His eyes grew comically wide. ‘What? Are you telling me you really won’t be obeying me? I am shocked.’
She smiled at his teasing. ‘That one, I’m afraid, I won’t even attempt.’
‘And thank goodness for that. If you did it would make me very worried indeed. So, these are our new wedding vows: we are going to make things as tolerable as possible, neither is going to obey the other, and we are to be friends.’
‘It’s agreed.’
She reached across the table to shake his hand.
He took her hand in his and gave it a decisive shake.
They continued to smile at each other, her hand still in his.
She looked into his deep blue eyes. Had she noticed before what an arresting shade they were, reminding her of clear skies on a long summer’s day, or drifts of forget-me-nots, and they were certainly captivating enough to make one forget one’s train of thought.
‘May I take your order?’ the waiter asked, and she quickly released his hand.
‘I don’t know,’ Margaret said, still flustered by thoughts of his eyes. ‘You can order for me.’
‘You’re not about to start obeying me, are you?’
‘Certainly not,’ she responded, then realised he was teasing, so smiled to soften her words.
‘My wife and I will have the consommé, followed by the sole, and fruit for dessert.’
He looked at her over the menu for her approval. She nodded, hardly registering what he’d ordered, only aware that he had called her my wife. That was who she now was. The wife of Jacob Ashford, the Duke of Rosedale, even if it was in name only.
The waiter collected the menus, bowed and departed.
Margaret made an effort to pull herself together.
Despite her inner turmoil, she needed to start abiding by her promise to make things as tolerable as possible.
To that end, she made polite conversation, asking about his estates, and he in turn asked her questions about art, a subject she was more than happy to talk about.
The dinner passed pleasantly enough, as if they really were friends, giving Margaret hope that they could do this. They could make things tolerable for each other.
When they arose from the table she discovered their fellow diners had all departed. She’d been so caught up in their conversation she had not noticed the other passengers leaving and that they were alone in an empty carriage, nor had she realised it was getting late.
‘Your berths have been prepared for you,’ the steward informed them, and Margaret could tell that, like the dining car waiters, he was eager for Margaret and Jacob to depart so he too could get to his own bed.
They followed the steward down the swaying corridor and he stopped outside the sleeping compartments, indicated which two were theirs, then departed.
‘Well, goodnight,’ Jacob said.
‘Yes, goodnight.’
They remained standing in the corridor.
‘I hope you have a good night’s sleep,’ he said.
‘Yes, you too.’ She knew he would not depart until she did, so that was what she should do.
She waited. He waited. This was silly. She needed to leave or they would be standing in the corridor all night.
‘Goodnight,’ she repeated and lifting herself up onto tiptoes kissed his cheek, in the manner that parting friends would surely do.
Her lips grazed across his skin, his stubble rough under her touch, his masculine scent and taste once again wrapping itself around her.
Her lips lingered a moment too long for a kiss between friends, then she quickly lowered herself, turned and fled into her sleeping compartment, leant against the shut door and exhaled slowly.
Never, ever, ever do that again, she admonished herself.
Even a friendly gesture such as a kiss on the cheek was fraught with danger. This marriage would only be tolerable if she kept any feelings completely bottled up and hidden from his view. And that was not going to happen if she went around kissing him willy-nilly.
She remained leaning against the door as she looked around the cabin, which had been transformed into a sleeping area. What she had to do now was get some sleep and try to face the next day with a greater degree of self-discipline and restraint than she had shown this evening.
She took a few more moments to compose herself, then pushed the service bell.
When the steward returned, she asked him to summon her lady’s maid.
Molly soon arrived and helped her out of her clothing and into her nightgown, then departed.
Margeret climbed into the bed, determined to sleep and put this long, confusing day behind her.
Sleep didn’t come. Instead, she stared at the ornate ceiling, knowing that behind the wooden panels that divided their compartments he was sleeping. The man she had married had no doubt drifted off into a trouble-free sleep while she lay wide awake, feeling like a complete fool.
She absolutely should not give him even a friendly kiss ever again, she told the ceiling.
She must do nothing to remind herself of that fateful kiss that had led to this unwanted marriage.
She should avoid getting so close to him that she could smell his expensive cologne or feel the warmth of his body.
And she must never, ever give a moment’s thought to what it felt like when his arms were around her and his body covered hers.
She gently ran her finger along her bottom lip, still tingling from the touch of his rough skin.
It had been a seemingly innocent gesture but there was nothing innocent about the memories it had evoked.
Her hand ran lightly down her neck, following the path his lips had trailed the night he had taken her in his arms.
At the time she had wanted his kisses and caresses to explore more of her body.
Her hand tentatively moved across the mounds of her breasts, knowing that was where she had wanted his kisses to go.
Her hand cupped her breast and she sighed, remembering what it had felt like to rub herself against him, to feel the sensitive buds tighten against his chest.
That was what she had wanted him to do when she had been in his arms. For him to relieve the exquisite tension building up in her body. Her fingers lightly stroked the tight peak, causing her burning body to grow hotter as she imagined his fingers touching her in such an intimate way.
The pounding in her body increasing with each stroke, she gasped loudly.
Her hand flew from her breasts and covered her mouth.
She looked towards the wall that separated her compartment from his.
How thick were those mahogany panels? Could he hear her?
Did he wonder why she had cried out in such a manner?
Would he know what she had been doing? What she had been thinking?
Would he know what she had been imagining him doing to her?
Her body once again burned furiously, this time from the embarrassment of him knowing how much she hungered for his touch.
The wallflower he’d been forced to marry against his wishes because she had thrown herself at him was now fantasising about him caressing her in an intimate manner, while he was unlikely to be giving her a second thought.
It was all too mortifying. The sooner this enforced time together at his Northumberland estate was over and done with, so that he could return to his old life in London and she could begin her separate life as the Duchess of Rosedale, the better.