Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Giles didn’t know what to do. Exposing their scheme really would destroy her reputation. That was definitely not the right move. And he couldn’t very well run after her and throw her over his shoulder.
Could he?
Of course not. It was a ridiculous thought. Panic was muddling his mind.
What was he supposed to do?
Perhaps it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t marry her now. He’d tried his best, after all. Offered. Even insisted.
He wandered down the dark street, his mind sprinting, trying to find a solution. He needed his partners. His stake in The Raven’s Den. The work he did there. Damn that woman and her father straight to hell.
The colors of impending dawn filled the sky by the time he finally gave up and returned home. There had to be an answer, but his mind was too tired to find it. Perhaps a few hours of sleep would help.
“I’m sorry, Thistle. I know, I’m even later than usual, but it’s been a hellish night, so please, just help me get ready for bed?
” Giles had inherited Thistlefield from his father, and although he hated the hours Giles kept, he had known Giles since the day he was born and put up with his bad habits, if sometimes begrudgingly.
But Thistle just shook his head. “There’s a young woman here to see you, sir. In the drawing room.” He gestured with his head.
Not the young woman, surely?
But it was her. She was slumped sideways, her head resting on the arm of the sofa, and she was fast asleep. What was she doing here? Was this a second trap of some kind? What other trap could there possibly be? He’d already offered to marry her. Demanded it in fact.
At least she was pretty. Beautiful if he put his wounded pride aside. There was no longer a mask covering her perfectly fair skin, and even as anger simmered in his veins, her lips were a temptation. Some of her hair had escaped its pins, long, dark curls resting against her back.
She was probably as exhausted as he was, but if he left her to sleep like that, she’d get a kink in her neck. Not that he should care.
He needed to know what the devil she was here for. He shoved the door shut behind him and startled her awake.
She jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Giles shrugged. “It’s awfully late.”
She took a step around the end of the sofa, putting it as a shield between them.
The irony of it jarred a laugh from him. “Now you’re afraid of me? Perhaps you should have been a bit more afraid before you trapped me.”
“I-I didn’t mean to.”
His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. “You didn’t mean to? You just inadvertently led me into a dark study, gave me permission to close the door, and allowed me to kiss you?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Your father forced you?”
She shook her head and lowered her gaze to the floor. “He didn’t force me.”
Her contradiction nettled his remaining wisp of patience.
She didn’t have a choice, but she wasn’t forced?
He blew out an irritated breath. “Why are you here, Miss Pelham? Did your father change his mind but is too much of a coward to come, himself? Had to send his daughter to do his dirty work, like usual?”
Her green eyes were wide and darted about, her fingers gripping the arm of his sofa. “He doesn’t want me to marry you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m desperate.” She looked down at her hands. “I was hoping… perhaps stupidly… that your offer still stands, and you might elope with me.”
His lungs seized. He didn’t want to marry. Especially a woman as duplicitous as this one.
“You mean now?” He chuckled, but it quickly escalated into full-bodied, slightly manic laughter.
He threw his arms into the air. “Why not?” At least that way, they’d be married by the time Thursday’s meeting came around.
Perhaps that would help to ease his partners’ inevitable anger.
Hopefully, it would be enough to keep them from expelling him.
Giles pulled the door open, not surprised to see Thistle right on the other side. “It would seem we need an extra bed readied.”
The man’s brow furrowed but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Giles turned back to her. “There won’t be a train for a few hours yet, so we might as well get some sleep.”
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”
“Under the circumstances, I think you can probably address me by my given name, Giles.”
“Thank you, Giles.”
He shook his head. “Thistle will take you up when your bed is ready.”
As he climbed the stairs, guilt whispered in his ear for the way he’d treated her. He shook it away. He was going to marry the woman, for God’s sake. Surely that counted for something.
An hour into their train ride, the silence was unbearably heavy.
“Why did you do it?”
She jumped at his words. “At the ball, you mean?”
“What else would I be talking about?” He wasn’t usually a grumpy man, but he was so angry that she’d forced him into this. So angry that her actions had led to him losing trust with his partners.
“You’re only going to hate me more for it, if I tell you.”
“I doubt that’s possible.”
She shifted nervously. “I needed your money.”
Giles snorted. “I handed over ten pounds without the slightest argument. That would have bought you an entire wardrobe, but it wasn’t enough?”
She shook her head. “My father has debts.”
“You said he didn’t force you.”
“He didn’t. But he needs the money, and I didn’t want the alternative option.”
“What was that?”
“He has a wealthy cousin who was willing to pay for my hand.”
“You didn’t want to be forced into a marriage, so you forced me into one?”
She nodded, but sadness visibly weighed her down. It made him feel like a cad. Not that it mattered. At the moment, he wasn’t capable of being kind to her.
“How will your father pay his debts now?”
“I don’t know.” A single tear ran down her cheek and she swiped it away. It was the only tear she had shed, through all of this. And it wasn’t for herself. “I’m sure that makes me a selfish daughter, but I just couldn’t marry Lord Chilton.”
Giles had heard stories about him. Mothers knew to keep their daughters away from him. Not to mention, he was old enough to be her grandfather. No wonder she was desperate to avoid that fate.
“I hope you’re not marrying me with the assumption that I will be paying your father’s debts.”
“If I thought you would give him money, it wouldn’t be a selfish decision, would it?”
They spent the remainder of the day in silence, the only words spoken those required by the wedding ceremony.
By the time they finally made it to his country home, he was irascibly angry.
He’d sent a telegram ahead to have rooms readied for them, so when they got there, he led her straight up to hers, ignoring the servants’ stares.
“Well you got the marriage you wanted. Are you ready to consummate it now?”
Her eyes widened and she took a step back.
“I won’t force you into my bed, even if you did force me into this marriage.”
He drew in a slow breath. None of this was really her fault. But before he could apologize, she stood up straight and stepped toward him.
“I didn’t force you into anything! You followed me into that room, and then you demanded marriage. Remember? You could have just paid him and walked away. But your pride wouldn’t let you do that.”
“You’d prefer I had just left you so that your father could continue to use you in his despicable schemes?”
“Yes! It would have been better than this. Better than spending the rest of my life with a man who despises me.”
Her ingratitude stoked his fiery anger, pushing his precarious temper over the edge. “Then perhaps you should have married Lord Chilton, instead. He’d be so pleased to have you, you’d already be naked in his bed.”
She drew in a shaky breath, her hand pressed against her stomach and fear shimmered in her eyes.
For the first time in his life, he felt like a villain, and it took the wind out of his sails.
This wasn’t who he was. He paused and breathed a defeated sigh.
“You won’t have to put up with me anymore.
I’ll be leaving in the morning to go back to my life.
But you’ll be safe here. The staff will see that you have all you require. ”
He needed a drink. More than one. She was correct about most of what she had said. He could have just walked away. He didn’t have to marry her. But forcing her out of that life was the right choice. Or at least it would have been, if he wasn’t such a bastard.
By the time Christina woke, bright sunlight was filling the room.
Her head ached, and her nose was stuffy.
After Giles left her standing alone in her room, all she’d managed to do was lock the door and flop down on the bed before crying herself to sleep.
And then mercifully, exhaustion had kept her slumbering for the entire night. She didn’t even remember dreaming.
She sat up. No sign of her husband, thank goodness, and she didn’t hear any shouting. Perhaps, if she didn’t leave her chambers, she could avoid him until he left. She felt empty. Not just on the inside, but as if she had no connection to the world surrounding her.
She looked around the room that was now hers. A pair of light grey armchairs sat before the fire with an oval table between them. The curtains and bedding were white, with pastel flowers embroidered into the fabric. It was beautiful, and nicely appointed, but she just wanted to go home.
For being the selfish choice, it sure was miserable.
She shook herself. Wallowing in her self-pity wouldn’t help anything.
Where had her valise ended up? She climbed off the bed and wandered to the other end of the room where she found an attached dressing room, complete with an enormous bathtub.
She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
She hadn’t noticed much of anything last night, but if her rooms were any indication, this was not a small house.
Apparently, her luggage had already been unpacked.
Her meager wardrobe looked sparse inside the large armoire, but at least she’d found her clothes.
She looked back at the large tub. The one thing that did sound inviting was a hot bath.
Did she dare to use the bell to ring for a servant? Was she allowed?
With a shrug, she gave it a pull. What was the worst that could happen?
After a few minutes, the door opened and a pretty young maid stepped through. Her amber eyes sparkled, and her smile was warm and welcoming. “Good morning, Mrs. Henderson.”
“Good morning.”
“My name is Winnie. Before Mr. Henderson left, he instructed me to see to anything you might need.”
“Left? You mean, back to London?”
“I believe so, yes.”
He hadn’t even said goodbye.
At least he wasn’t around to shout at her anymore.
“Would it be possible for me to have a bath?”
“Of course. I’ll bring you some tea while it’s being prepared.” The woman bustled away.
Christina settled into one of the chairs in her room. It was strange thinking of it as that. But apparently, this was her home now.
It wasn’t long before she heard the bath being filled on the other side of the door, and Winnie returned with a tray.
“Would you like milk or sugar?” she asked after pouring the tea.
“A bit of both, please.”
Winnie added them, and stirred to dissolve the crystals. “There you are, Mrs. Henderson. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Would you mind calling me Christina?” She didn’t particularly like that she now carried the name of a man who hated her.
“Whatever you wish.”
She took a sip of her tea. It was divine.
She’d been steeping her leaves several times, trying to save money anywhere she could.
It was hard to remember when she’d last had a cup so robust. And with both milk and sugar.
What a treat. She breathed in its aroma and savored another mouthful.
At least there was something good about this life.
“What is he like? Mr. Henderson, I mean.”
Winnie looked a little taken back by that question. It was probably odd to be asking it about her own husband, but how else would she learn about him?
“We don’t see much of him these days. Not since he became a partner in that club. But he’s kind, funny, generous, and even though he’s not living here, he still drops in occasionally to check on us.”
“He’s not stern or grumpy?”
“Mr. Henderson?” She laughed. “Heavens no. Or at least, not usually. Typically, he enjoys laughter, makes jokes, and teases the staff.”
Christina looked down at her tea. That was not the man she’d met.
Or perhaps it was. He had been kind in Lady Hempsted’s study.
He'd sought her permission before closing the door, offered her champagne for her nerves, and stepped in front of her to block her from view when her father came through the door.
More than any of the other men had done.
But why?
And then there was the kiss. He’d been exceedingly gentle. She could still imagine the feel of his lips on hers. Warm and soft. But then everything changed.
She pulled herself back to the present conversation. “You said usually. Does that mean sometimes he is cross and difficult?”
“Only last night. I’ve never seen him that way before.”
“That’s my doing, I suppose.” He truly hated her. Rightfully so. But why did he marry her? It just kept coming back to that.
There was a knock on the adjoining door. “Your bath is ready.” Winnie took her dishes and set them aside, then walked over and opened the door for her.
“Would you like me to help you undress?”
“I can manage.” Christina turned her back and pressed a hand to her chest. She probably should have told Giles about her birthmark.
It was ugly and covered most of the left side of her chest, including her breast. Slowly, she removed her clothes, handing them to Winnie.
She’d never had a lady’s maid, and it felt awkward undressing with her there.
Winnie’s gaze didn’t linger on the blemish, nor did she say anything, but it was impossible to hide.
Would she mention it to Giles? Probably not.
What kind of conversation could a maid possibly have with him that would lead to details about his wife’s body?
And what did it even matter? They were married now.
He was stuck with her, birthmark and all.
Perhaps he would never even know it existed.
As she sank into the warm water, her tight muscles eased, and the faint scent of honeysuckle filled her nostrils. “Oh, that’s lovely. What did he tell you about me?” Christina asked.
“Not much, if I’m honest. Only that you’re his wife, and we’re to provide you with whatever you need.”
She inhaled the lovely aroma, once more, and stretched out in the large bathtub, while the woman, who was apparently her maid, prepared her clothes for the day. Perhaps being married to him wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. At least, not while he was away.