Chapter 11
Cynthia
A jaunty drive around Hyde Park. A simple coming together so I can know Henhaven better. A perfectly miserable afternoon. Soft sounds of conversation and laughter greet my ears as we pass the members of London, but nothing can lift my spirits with how low they sink.
Closing my eyes, I drag in the scents around me, naming each bloom as I can. Something, anything to give my mind something else to think about besides Charles and the incessant throbbing between my thighs. Though I shift a bit, all it does is fan the flames.
Even now, I can still feel his seed slipping out of me as arousal threatens to swamp my senses. If only it were Norhaven taking me for a ride today and not Henhaven. Two Alphas. Two powerful men. Two determined to make me a bride.
It all just feels so muddled inside. I shouldn’t even be here, entertaining Henhaven for all of London to see. I should be on Charles’s arm, showing off my love to the world. Ours should be a romance they talk about for ages. Statues should be erected in our honor.
But no.
I’m forced to ride with Henhaven, affixing a smile on my face so as to not bring shame to us by looking as miserable as I feel. In truth, I would have come out wearing all black if the maid hadn’t insisted on putting me in a dress that supposedly showed off my hair and eyes.
And for what? For a man to go on and on about things I care nothing about? It hurts, a little. At least with Charles, the conversation was compelling. Though, most of the time, it was some other part of him doing the talking and not his lips.
Though the path is smooth, there are still a few rough patches here and there. The moment the wheel bumps into it, I find myself gripping the other side of the curricle to keep myself upright and not slam into him. Far be it from me that he gets the wrong idea that I am for this arrangement.
Sitting next to Henhaven, thighs nearly touching, I grip my reticule even closer, doing my best not to sway about. From either side, others smile at us, seemingly happy for this Season’s newest match. They tip their hats and murmur what I think to be well wishes.
Surely, they’re all happy and relieved that I finally found someone before I became far too old to garner the affections of anyone of note. Not that Henhaven has all that much going for him. I mean, I’m sure he’s good for someone, but that person is not me.
As we move about a turn, a hint of wind picks up, sending chilly eddies around me. Unfortunately, it also brings his scent fully in my nose. It’s not the worst thing I’ve smelled, but I clamor for the dark richness of leather and smoke instead of the salt kiss of the ocean.
“Your thoughts on the matter?” his deep baritone cuts in, interrupting my thoughts.
Turning, I blink at the man, noting the glint of gray in his steely blue eyes. They stare at me in small bursts before looking back at the horses to make sure our course is steady.
“Could you repeat the question?” I ask, swallowing as I do my best to turn my attention back to him.
His lips turn up into a soft smile, as if my inattention amuses him. “I said French or English? Which do you prefer?”
My brain whirrs in my head, but I still cannot make out what he’s asking, even with that bit of information.
“Please forgive me. I do fear as if I’ve missed part of the conversation.
I am passable with French, though not nearly as accomplished as my family would like.
I do apologize if that makes me far less appealing to you. ”
Maybe that’s the key. If I demonstrate just how inept I am as a wife, maybe he’ll call off the wedding. It almost worked for Teresa. But then, she’s happily married to the man she tormented. I would rather not suffer such a fate.
His easy chuckle grates along my already overwrought nerves.
Somehow, he seems unflappable, as if nothing is the matter, as if nothing can move him toward violence.
Of course, at that thought, the blood runs hot in my veins, flushing my cheeks as arousal gathers at the juncture of my thighs.
I can only hope he doesn’t smell me and think he’s the cause.
“I was inquiring after the cook. Once we’re married, I’m sure you would like a say in the household. I was merely curious as to your preference. Some ladies seem to want a French cook over an English one.”
“Oh,” I cry out, laughing at the question. “I am not picky in that regard. I only care to eat. As long as it tastes good, I am satisfied.”
“Excellent. Cook will be very happy to know she will not be out of a job.”
As we continue to ride in silence, I toy with the front of my dress. “Did you think I would wish to upset your entire household?”
“Think? Yes. I am very well aware that ladies have their own wants and desires when it comes to hearth and home. Did I wish for you to make all those changes? I’d rather not. Though I am a viscount, I do have my sisters to care for. That, and the entire estate to run.”
His voice dies down to a monotonous buzzing as he waxes poetic about his herring export, something I have absolutely no opinion on. He seems quite enthralled with himself and his ventures. I only wish his interests were far less boring.
“Tell me, my lord,” I interject as we slip into a lull. “What sort of husband would you be? Are you the type to be in control of your household? Or do you prefer the lady of the house to take on that role?” Perhaps I can ascertain if he has a firm hand by asking some innocent questions.
For a moment, he stares out at the horses, not speaking. I wonder if he just hadn’t heard me. However, the moment I open my mouth again, he turns to me. “I am to be Lord and commander of my domain. That includes everyone in it. That would also include you.”
Despite myself, a soft flutter of arousal flares to life at the firm surety in his tone.
Nothing like Charles, to be sure, but at least if I am resigned to be with him, there is a little bit of hope?
Granted, that still doesn’t answer what I’m really after, but there seems no delicate way to find what I seek.
That is, without disclosing I know far more than an “innocent” maid should.
“I see. And when you discipline your sisters, what methods do you use?” If this doesn’t at least give me a hint that he knows his way around implements of punishment, I don’t know what will.
At that, he stops for a second, and the horses follow suit. After clearing his throat, he slaps the reins against their backs and coaxes them to move once more.
“Are you concerned that my sisters are unruly?” he asks. “Though I don’t know much about you, seeing as we are so swiftly thrown together, you didn’t strike me as the type to be swayed by idle gossip.”
“In truth,” I laugh to dispel the gathering tension. “I have heard next to nothing about you. I don’t know of your sisters or how they behave. I just know as head of the household, duties such as discipline would fall to you.”
“And you mean to ask if I’m a cruel man?” He gazes at me, his expression morphing into something that almost looks like tenderness. But why? It’s not as if this is a love match. His knee shifts over slightly to bump against mine. “Do you worry that I am cruel?”
My heart pounds in my chest at the unexpected touch. Though it does not move me toward arousal, it certainly makes my skin jolt. Any touch from a man, unexpected or not, would cause such a reaction. Right?
“As you say,” I squeak out. “You know nothing of me, nor I of you. It would be a rather harsh twist of fate to find myself trapped in a marriage with a man who is cruel.”
“Many things could be used to describe me, but cruel is not one of them. I do not pretend that there is love between us, but you do not have to worry about me striking you or boxing you about the ears if you make a mistake.”
“I see.”
As we slip back into silence, I can’t help but mourn the distance that continues to grow as each day takes me inevitably closer to a wedding I don’t want. He’s not cruel. He wouldn’t beat his wives. Is there something here that isn’t simply boring?
“And do you have any odd collections?” I ask in desperation, thinking about the scandalous paintings and deviant, erotic writings Alessandra discovered before she married Edward Fitzwilliam, Duke of Redleigh. “Things you prize?”
At this, his face lights up, and I wait in anticipation, hoping it’s something I can cling to.
As he talks, regaling me with his massive rock and mineral collection, my heart sinks.
Not quite what I had in mind, but as long as he’s happy, I suppose.
I do my best to go along with it, to seem interested, but inside, I feel like dying.
If only he were a cruel man. If only he were a gambling type man, a man with vices. If only there were some way that I could either be happy with him or be forever separated from him. Unfortunately, with each minute he talks, I worry Charles will be unsuccessful.
By the time Henhaven takes me back to the dowager duchess’s house, my mind reels with talk of rocks and earth. Though I am fond of anything sparkling and pretty, I cannot put a name to them. But not to fear, Henhaven knows each gemstone in spades.
The tiger descends from the back and goes to the head to hold the horses’ reins. I’ve honestly never been so happy to see a house in all my life. As Henhaven comes around to hold his hand out for me, I glance up, noting Norhaven as he brings Erebus up to us.
Henhaven, of course, doesn’t notice. Instead, he drops my hand the moment I step onto the ground and gestures wildly at the house.
“Take Portland stone, for instance. You see it everywhere in London. Limestone, technically. Oolitic if you want to get even more in-depth. You can see the tiny fossil fragments if you look closely enough.”
As he stoops down, I glance over at Charles, desperate for him to make his presence known so he can interrupt this gushing over mere rocks, but he doesn’t. The infuriating man crosses his arms and leans against the fence, his lips tilting up into a wolfish grin.
“Look here, Miss Campbell,” Henhaven cries out as he picks up a piece from the gutter. “See? See these small indentations? You can just barely make out the ridges of what once was a shell or some other bit of animal. Fascinating, really. Here. You’ll see.”
He hands me the rock, and I look between him and it, bewilderment furrowing my brow. “You wish me to look at a rock, my lord?”
At this, his face falls a touch as his shoulders sag.
“Forgive me, Miss Campbell. I fear I let my excitement run away with me. This is certainly not a passion we both share. I shall endeavor to find another topic of amusement to you when I see you next. Pray tell me your passions so that I may research them.”
At this, Charles pushes off the fence and walks over. “She’s rather fond of cakes. In fact, I fear she has an unlucky ability to cast flour about as if conjuring the bit of food from thin air.”
Henhaven looks between us before bowing. “Your Grace. Forgive me. I didn’t see you there. Sounds as if you know quite a few intimacies about our dear Miss Campbell.”
“Well, seeing as she’s nearly inseparable from my sisters, it’s hard not to.”
“I see. In that case, I will be on my way so you may rest before dinner. Miss Campbell. Norhaven.”
“Henhaven,” we both murmur as I dip into a curtsy.
As he drives away, I look up at Charles and plant my hands on my hips. “That was rude.”
“No,” he growls, leaning in so close I fear what others might say if they pass by. “What’s rude is allowing him to touch what’s mine. Fear not, little vexation. I will see to you soon enough. Now go. Your bed is waiting. Rest before I get my hands on you tonight.”