To Desire a Wicked Duke (9 page)

Thus, when Rotham greeted her with a polite “Miss Blanchard,” she merely inclined her head and murmured, “Your grace” in return. They might have well been strangers.

The guest list was small, but included Tess’s dearest friends: Her godmother, Lady Wingate; the three Loring sisters and their husbands; Tess’s cousin Damon
and his lively wife, Eleanor; Dorothy Croft; Jane Caruthers, the spinster who oversaw the daily operations of the Freemantle Academy; and the academy’s original patron, Winifred, Lady Freemantle.

Tess’s women friends flanked her protectively until it was time to begin the ceremony. Rotham evidently noted their concern, for his gray eyes glittered with irony as he led her to stand before the vicar.

Her mind was a riot of scattered thoughts and feelings just then. How many weddings had she attended this past year, watching her friends and neighbors and cousin become bound to their life-mates? The vicar was the same clergyman who had married Arabella and Lily.

He was getting a good deal of practice, Tess thought irreverently as his gentle voice droned on.

The sense of unreality continued to plague her throughout the liturgy. Some while later, though, it was over and Rotham gave her a brief kiss to seal their vows.

His lips were cool, yet they still stirred the same deplorable heat inside her as yesterday, Tess realized to her regret. So did his casual touch at her back when he guided her toward a side table to sign the marriage lines that would make their union official.

She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and putting ink to parchment. Then glancing up, Tess met her new husband’s eyes.

For better or worse—likely much worse—she was now wed to the Duke of Rotham.

The duke’s own feelings were a perverse mixture of resignation, triumph, and regret.

Resignation because he disliked losing control of his fate.

Triumph because he now had legal claim to the one woman in the world he’d thought he could never possess.

And regret because once again he had driven the laughter from her eyes.

Ian glanced down at the lovely, vibrant woman he had just wed. There was no trace of Tess’s enchanting smile. No expression at all except sadness … and perhaps trepidation.

The last thing Ian wanted was for Tess to fear him.

“You might attempt to lighten your expression, love,” he suggested in a dry tone. “Pretend for a moment that you are not going to your doom.”

Tess’s back stiffened for an instant before she visibly made an effort to relax. “Everyone here knows our circumstances. They would disdain the hypocrisy if either of us feigned joy.”

“Perhaps, but your friends now look ready to draw their swords and skewer me if I dare take a wrong step.”

She glanced around at their audience. The wedding guests were eyeing Ian with various degrees of concern, even belligerence on the part of the youngest Loring sister.

Tess smiled at Lady Claybourne before turning back to Ian. “I believe Lily is unarmed at the moment, but she has recently become skilled with a rapier and would no doubt be willing to use it in my defense.”

Ian’s mouth curved. “Is that a warning?”

“You might say so,” Tess rejoined with a hint of her usual archness. A moment later, she sighed. “You
are right—we should keep up appearances. If you will contrive to say something in the least witty or amusing, I would find it easier to comply.”

He gave a mock wince. “Meaning my usual wit is lacking. You wound me.”

She manufactured a mild laugh, which caught the attention of half the room. Still, there was a spark of humor in Tess’s dark eyes that relieved Ian.

“Where will we go from here, your grace?” she asked. “Bellacourt?”

“Yes. Surely no one will object to me taking my bride to my family seat for a measure of privacy. You may invite your friends to visit you whenever you wish—the sooner the better, in fact—so they can be reassured that I am not beating you or starving you or chaining you away in my dungeon.”

Surprisingly, interest flared in Tess’s eyes. “You have a dungeon?”

“Not at Bellacourt. It was merely a figure of speech.”

“What about your castle in Cornwall?”

His eyebrow lifted. “Falwell? Actually it has quite a large dungeon. Why do you ask?”

“A dungeon might prove useful for a friend of mine.”

“You have a friend who chains up prisoners?”

Tess’s soft laugh was more genuine this time. “Only in the fictional sense. She is a writer of Gothic novels and is currently plotting her latest tale. She hopes to include an element of fright—nothing too gruesome, merely suspenseful enough to make readers shiver. And a dungeon could provide ideal fodder for inspiration, especially one that might be haunted by
ghosts. I should like to hear more about yours, Rotham.”

“I would be happy to oblige sometime, love,” Ian replied. “For now, however, we should join the others before they decide you need rescuing. In any event, I believe Lady Wingate wishes to toast our nuptials.”

Tess’s smile faded at the reminder, but she accepted his arm without protest, then raised her chin as if girding herself for a losing battle.

My bride. My wife
. The words sounded strange to Ian. Stranger still was realizing how impatient he was to be alone with Tess.

No doubt his desire to leave Danvers Hall had something to do with his reception by the company. Since the ton was actually rather small, he knew all the noblemen present, some of them fairly well. But he hadn’t expected to be approached by each and every one of them during the course of the next hour.

The first to pull Ian aside was Tess’s cousin Damon Stafford, Viscount Wrexham, who said quietly, “I want to offer you a word of warning, Rotham. Should you hurt my cousin in any way, you will answer to me.”

“I assure you,” Ian replied, keeping his tone bland, “I have no intention of hurting her.”

“See that you don’t.”

No sooner had Wrexham walked away than Heath Griffin, Marquess of Claybourne, took his place. “You should be aware that your new wife has a large number of friends, Rotham.”

Ian suspected that Lady Claybourne had prompted her husband to make her and her sisters’ concerns
known. But the next warning came from Marcus Pierce, the Earl of Danvers.

Ian held up a hand, preempting him. “Don’t tell me. You have come to threaten me with bodily injury should I harm a hair on my new wife’s head.”

“Not a threat, a promise,” Danvers said easily.

Ian might have been amused had he not known the noblemen were deadly serious. Even so, he could respect their position and was glad that Tess had so many friends who cared about her welfare, even if
he
was the one who would suffer the consequences of failure.

Last was the tall, fair-haired Duke of Arden, Drew Moncrief. Arden’s wry smile of understanding mirrored Ian’s sardonic one. “I suspect you know what I wish to say, Rotham.”

“I believe I do. Your new duchess is worried for
my
new duchess and has charged you with seeing that I don’t hurt her.”

“I won’t need to lift a finger in her defense,” Arden added. “My wife and her sisters think of Tess as their own. You don’t want to make them your enemies.”

“I expect not. I consider myself fairly warned, Arden.”

Then Lady Wingate came up to him and proceeded to express her fears for Tess. “I have begun to wonder if I acted too precipitously,” the baroness began. “If you are harboring any thoughts of revenge at being compelled to wed her, you should not blame Tess. I am at fault, Rotham.…”

With effort, Ian listened patiently and refrained from lifting his eyes to the ceiling when claiming that
he had no thoughts of revenge and promising to treat Tess with consideration and respect.

Lady Wingate did not look entirely reassured, but she left him to rejoin Tess, who was surrounded by the Loring sisters.

Ian studied his bride for a moment, then glanced at the mantel clock, wondering how soon he could escape the intense scrutiny of her friends and have her to himself.

By the time the bridal couple departed Danvers Hall for Richmond, the chill, drizzling rain had ceased, but dusk had fallen. Within the relative warmth of his closed carriage, Ian observed his new wife.

Tess had spoken little once they were alone together and refused to meet his eyes. A melancholy frown pursed her lips now as she gazed out at the darkening countryside, her thoughts obviously far away.

She didn’t stir even when they reached Bellacourt.

“Pray forgive me for interrupting your dismal ruminations,” Ian drawled, “but we have arrived.”

Seeming finally to become aware of her surroundings, Tess gave him her full attention. “I beg your pardon? What dismal ruminations?”

“You are still stewing about our marriage, are you not?”

“Truthfully, I was thinking of something else entirely.”

Visibly shaking off her musings then, she bestirred herself and accepted his hand to descend the carriage.

Yet when she stepped down, Tess hesitated a long moment, looking up at the magnificent residence of mellow golden stone. Displaying grace and grandeur in every line, Bellacourt boasted four vast wings of four stories each, built around a large central courtyard. Tess had visited there twice before with Richard, Ian knew, but she’d seen only a fraction of the many rooms and few of the numerous outlying buildings on the estate.

He meant to try and make her feel welcome, though. He well remembered what it was like growing up at Bellacourt as a child. The cold, lonely formality of his home had been unrelieved by a procession of nannies and governesses and tutors, or by the presence of his only surviving parent, since his dissolute father much preferred the sinful pleasures London offered.

“I have instructed my majordomo to make a place for your servants,” Ian said while guiding Tess up the wide front steps. “Your maid and coachman and footmen will have rooms for tonight. Tomorrow we can discuss what further staff you wish to reside here with you.”

She glanced up at him with sharp puzzlement.

“You seem surprised,” he remarked. “I am not such a complete ogre that I would deny you your own servants.”

“I did not think you were a
complete
ogre,” was her mild retort.

Ian bit back a smile at that show of her former spirit. “I will introduce you to my housekeeper and
majordomo this evening,” he continued, “but meeting the remainder of the staff and touring the house can wait until morning if you wish. You must be fatigued after the unsettling events of the past two days.”

Her brows drew together as she studied him with something close to suspicion. “Thank you,” Tess replied, reverting to her previous emotionless tone. “I would indeed prefer to wait.”

As they reached the front door, it was opened by an imperious, silver-haired man dressed in ducal livery, and a much more congenial older woman.

Ian performed the introductions as promised, making her known to Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Young, then added once they had handed over their outer garments, “Mrs. Young will show you to your apartments so that you may dress for dinner.”

“I trust I will have my own rooms?” Tess queried in a low voice.

A dry smile curled his lips. “But of course. Somehow I knew you would insist upon it.”

Bending, he kissed her fingers, which clearly startled her. “Smile for our audience, darling,” Ian murmured for her ears only. In a louder voice, he said, “Pray join me in the drawing room before dinner, my love. I will be counting the moments.”

When Tess was shown to her splendidly appointed rooms, she was comforted to find her maid Alice there before her. Having a familiar face with her as she prepared for dinner bolstered her spirits—although it seemed strange to hear herself addressed
as “your grace,” especially with such awed reverence as Alice displayed.

She was the Duchess of Rotham now, however, and as such would have to grow accustomed to the fawning deference afforded ladies of her exalted new rank.