Deliciously Wicked (19 page)

I
t had been three days since he'd seen Meg and since she'd agreed to be his wife. Two more days and they'd be husband and wife. She'd been surprisingly absent from the factory. Planning for a wedding took a lot of time, he supposed.

But the time had come. He could wait no longer. He had to tell her today. Gareth pinched the bridge of his nose. Once the announcement hit the papers, the whole of London would know. It was only fair that Meg hear it from him rather than from reading it, or hearing it from a friend.

She was going to be angry, and he couldn't say that he blamed her. She would see this as a lie, a truth he'd withheld from her. But for him, it was part of the fabric of his being. He'd never intended to take that title, never intended anyone would know his true identity.

He'd been in this parlor once before, a few days ago
when he'd spoken to her father. He'd never seen anything beyond this room. It didn't take long for the butler to retrieve her, and she entered the room in a flurry. She wasn't dressed as he'd normally seen her, in her well-tailored dresses. Today she wore a simple gown of soft yellow and her glorious hair hung down around her shoulders. He thought he detected bare toes peeking out from beneath her hem.

“Gareth?” she asked breathlessly. “I wasn't told it was you, only that I had an urgent visitor.”

He took in the sight of her. She was refreshing, a breath of air, and despite his reluctance to admit it, being near her seemed to lift the heavy weight from his shoulders. She always had a smile for him. He'd never known anyone like that before. That would all end as soon as she heard his news.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Her hand moved to her hair. “Oh, I must look a fright. I've been helping to clean out the north wing.”

“No, I meant it. You look lovely.” She looked simple and carefree, ironic considering that their situation was anything but.

“Oh, thank you.” She reached behind her and twirled two locks from the side of her head and secured them away from her face.

He rubbed his palms on his pants. Did she have to look so damn pretty today? Because all he wanted to do was pull her to him and lose himself in her kisses. He wouldn't have to deny himself of her temptations for much longer. Soon they would be married and he would have her anytime he wanted. Assuming she didn't do something drastic after his confession, like kill him.

“There is something I need to tell you,” he said.

“All right.” She crossed the room and sat down in one of the wing-back chairs. Somehow she'd folded her legs up underneath her.

“The announcement of our pending nuptials will hit the paper today.” He glanced around the room. “You will discover when you read it that I'm not who you think I am.”

She frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Precisely what I said.”

“I think you're Gareth Mandeville and you work at my father's factory.” She held fabric from her dress in her hands and fidgeted with it. “Is that not correct?”

“No, it is. I am those things. That is my name. But there is more. More I haven't told you. Haven't told anyone. Well, one person knows.” He turned from her and walked over to a table. “May I?” he asked, pointing at the decanter of brandy.

“Please.”

“Do you want one?” he asked, after he swallowed a glass, and then poured himself another.

“I'll wait. Gareth, you're making me nervous.”

“I'm a viscount,” he blurted out.

She came to her feet. “You're a what?”

He nodded, then took another sip. “You heard me correctly. I am a viscount.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of a jest?”

“No.”

“I don't understand.” She fell back into the chair. “How can you be a viscount?”

He should probably go to her and comfort her, but that was something he couldn't make himself do. He wasn't the comforting type. It was best she learned that now before she started to expect certain behaviors.

“I don't understand. Why would you lie about this? Why would you lie to me?” she asked.

“I didn't lie, Meg.”

“You didn't lie? What would you call this, then?”

“I simply didn't tell you everything about myself. No doubt there are things about yourself that you have not told me.” She had every right to be angry with him. He knew that. But it was his secret to keep, and he would not make excuses for his decision.

“Oh yes, let's see. I bite my fingernails, on occasion I don't brush my hair, and…” She paused and held her dress up to her ankles. “You caught me; I have a fondness for walking around without shoes. Yes, that's all the same.”

“I understand your anger.”

“You don't understand anything,” she said bitingly.

He didn't. She was right about that. She had compromised them to save his reputation and now she'd have to marry a man she didn't want. A man who had lied to her. A man who would probably lie to her again if it served his purpose. Would she forgive him if he told her he couldn't help it? That he was doomed to be a selfish bastard who only looked out for himself and ways to serve his needs?

“How is it possible that you have a title?”

“My father was a viscount; when he died, I became a viscount.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don't need a lesson in birthright, Gareth. I meant, what are you doing working at a factory?” She put her hand to her chest, suspicion flickering across her face. “Are you spying on us?”

“No.” It was on his tongue to ask her if she really believed him capable of that—she should know him
better. But that would be a slap in the face. She knew him, probably better than a lot of people, because she'd actually taken the time and effort to learn things about him. And they'd spent so much time together. But he'd still kept this from her, and one secret would erase all the other things he'd shared. “Nothing like that. I work because I have to. Because without a paying position, I wouldn't have any funds.”

“But aren't gentlemen supposed to invest their funds, not toil and labor themselves?”

He stiffened. “I am not above working with my hands. And you have to actually have funds to invest, or that plan doesn't work.” He walked over to her, but didn't reach out to touch her. “I didn't do this to trick you. It wasn't meant to hurt you or anything like that. I kept this a secret for my own reasons, that did not and will not have anything to do with you or this marriage. No one knows about this. I never intended to take this title. It has brought nothing but misery, and I didn't want it to have that sort of power over me. I'm sorry you feel as if I've betrayed you, but this isn't about you. I only wanted you to know the truth before you become my wife.”

She said nothing for a moment; she only watched him guardedly. “I have one question.”

“Anything.”

“Did you set all this up so you could marry me for my money?”

He knew how this looked. He'd be a fool not to. The penniless viscount who happened to land himself a wealthy heiress. He went to her then, unable to ignore her need to be comforted. And his desire to comfort her. He knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his.
“No. I did not. I never even knew that your father had a daughter when I took the position at Piddington's. And the missing boxes, and getting locked in with you, not planned. I am not marrying you for your money, nor do I want your money. I will continue earning my own. Once we are married you'll be a viscountess. The title means little to me, but a great deal to the rest of Society. I wanted to be honest with you before we were married.”

She nodded but did not respond further. His comfort was not enough. He was not enough.

He stood. “I'll leave you to your thoughts about this. And I will see you in two days at the church. I do hope that you won't be angry with me forever,” he said, then he turned and left.

She wouldn't be angry forever. He knew that. Meg was a naturally happy person. She wasn't a fraud, she simply had a naturally cheerful disposition. Even so, she deserved to be angry right now. Once she digested everything, the anger would clear. It had to. Because he couldn't live with himself if he was the reason Meg Piddington stopped smiling.

 

Meg was angry, shocked, and confused. A viscount? She wouldn't have been any less surprised had he told her that he was the crown prince.

And her, a viscountess. Her Ladyship.

That was almost laughable. On the surface, this was exactly the kind of match the pushy mothers of heiresses all over England dreamed of making for their daughters. She had been raised in a good home with plenty of privileges, but once her mother had passed on, all her education about catching a husband had
ended. She knew nothing about being a wife. And even less about being a viscountess.

Ah, Mama, now would have been a nice time to have a talk
. She very much needed some guidance. What did you do with a marriage based on a man's sense of responsibility? And how could she protect herself when she knew that losing her heart to him was only a kiss away? Was the heartbreak of loving someone without his returning that love as great as losing the love of your life?

It wasn't merely his lie that had her upset. He didn't want to marry her, and that hurt. It was clear that she would never be more to him than an obligation.

Evidently all those moments when she thought he trusted her, the moments he shared with her meant nothing to him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Now a part of her would always wonder if he was telling her everything. Or if he was keeping some things to himself. Keeping her out of the corners of his life, only allowing her to touch the places he designated.

Could she live within his boundaries? She'd never been very good at following rules. So if Gareth wanted a true viscountess for a wife, he would be sorely disappointed. And at the moment, Meg didn't care. Let him be disappointed for a change.

 

Two days later she was married. The evening of the wedding, Meg wandered aimlessly up to the north wing, feeling lost and adrift. Alone.

Ellen came in and assisted her with her gown. She said nothing to the maid as the woman busily hung up the dress and put away her stockings and petticoat.

“That will be all, Ellen, thank you.” Meg didn't look at her. She couldn't bear to see the pity that no doubt lined her maid's features. Everyone in the house knew he wasn't here, that he couldn't face his bride on their wedding night.

Meg heard the door close as Ellen left.

Her father had given them the entire north wing of the estate, insisting that the boarding rooms were not fit for a married couple. He was most accommodating to the viscount. Meg knew in her heart that the civility had little to do with Gareth's newly disclosed title and everything to do with the fact that he was now her husband. Her father had never been pretentious, and while he enjoyed his money, he certainly didn't believe it made him any worthier than the men working in his factory. Similarly he didn't feel that a family name or title made a man any grander than anyone else. But it was all the buzz with the household staff that she had married a real gentleman.

So she still lived in the same house, only it didn't quite feel much like the same house since she was in a different room, on a different floor, in a very different role. Her father claimed it was no different than how things would be handled if he were to leave his estate to a son.

But here it was going on midnight and she had not seen her new husband since they'd exchanged vows. Supposedly Gareth was at his boarding room retrieving his belongings, but Meg had been in that room and there was no conceivable way it would take this long to gather everything. Her father had offered for him to move in immediately upon announcement of their engagement, but Gareth had declined, and had remained
in his rooms until today. He didn't seem interested in claiming special treatment now that he was related to the factory owner.

So here Meg sat, a wife, and her husband was not even home. On her wedding night. Not precisely how she'd imagined things would be. Thoughts of desertion flitted through her mind. He would have protected her with his name, but would he still maintain his freedom? She tried to believe that was a possibility because she didn't know him the way she thought she had. But she knew, deep in her bones, that he would never do such a thing.

He would never love her, but she knew he would never leave her.

But that didn't explain where he was. And the longer he was absent, the steadier her anger became. Perhaps he didn't want to be married—well, this wasn't a perfect situation for either of them. But he owed her the common courtesy of being here on their wedding night. At least so that things would appear as though it was a legitimate union.

He was, no doubt, walking around trying to reconcile the reality today brought. They were married. Man and wife. Forever.

Despite her own reluctance to marry and her firm belief that she never would, she had, as any other young girl, allowed herself the freedom to dream of this day. She and Charlotte had spent entire evenings spinning wildly romantic tales of the proposal and the wedding and the wedding night. But none of her wild imaginings ever included an absent husband.

Would he consummate their marriage? Or was this to be nothing more than a business agreement? Meg
looked over to the bed at the filmy piece of clothing lying atop it. She and Charlotte had gone shopping as soon as the wedding plans were in place and she'd purchased a few necessities. Namely prettier undergarments. Their thinking was that there was no sense in having a husband to undress you if he could not appreciate the entire experience. Now she thought better of it, and it seemed of more importance that she herself be able to indulge in the silkier bits of material.

There was no reason she should not enjoy her purchases simply because her husband had fled. She removed her plain chemise. Standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but her skin, she reached over and fingered the beautiful silk fabric. It felt as smooth and slippery as water in her hands. She closed her eyes and pulled the shift over her head and shivered as it slid down her flesh.