The Viscount Takes a Bride: A Steamy Regency Romance, page 5
“My Lady,” Saxton murmured as she was handed to him. A thrill brushed her spine, but she clenched her teeth and gave him an impassive look, inclining her head to return his greeting.
The fact that they had a special license did not make the parson’s sermon any shorter, and every long minute that passed was torture. Margaret was keenly aware of Saxton beside her, and she continuously envisioned what her marriage would look like. She was certain she would have to fight her body to refuse him. She had to be able to, for her pride depended upon it.
When they were pronounced married, they signed the register, and the man she had seen earlier, whom she now knew to be Saxton’s solicitor, signed as one of the witnesses while Harvey’s solicitor signed as the other. A wedding should never feel this formal, but that was what this was. A business agreement.
Margaret felt truly sold. She swallowed against her clenching throat and tried to smile. No one but Andrew returned her gesture, and when she looked up at Saxton, she found his demeanor calm but inscrutable. It held no comfort, and she was realizing that no one could comfort her, least of all him, for he was the cause of her troubles. The solicitors offered their felicitations before her mother and brother embraced her.
Her father remained standing stiffly, and he did not say a word to anyone. Margaret had been informed earlier that there was to be no wedding breakfast, and that she would depart for Saxton House in Westminster.
“I have arranged for us to travel to Dorset from here,” Saxton informed her. “I have already spoken to your father about it.”
Margaret’s brows furrowed. “Why the change?”
“It is better if we leave town,” he replied.
That was no answer at all. “Is it because of the rumors about Dormer?” she asked. Their conversation was quiet enough that no one could hear.
Saxton did not respond, but she could see in his gaze that it was the rumor. She was displeased that he had not consulted her before deciding to drag her to another part of the country, but Margaret did not want to argue.
“I will be waiting for you in the carriage,” he said before raising her hand to his lips. She tried not to feel anything as his mouth touched her gloved hand, but the heat that penetrated the fabric was impossible to ignore.
“Of course,” she murmured. Something passed over his features at her stiff tone, and she thought she saw pain. Margaret did not believe he could feel pain. She watched him walk out of the room, and her parents’ glares followed him. Suddenly, she remembered how uneasy he had looked during the ceremony. Had her parents been glaring at him throughout? Was that why he was leaving to wait for her in the carriage now?
Gloria embraced her again. “You will write to us often, will you not?”
“Of course, I will write, Mother.” Margaret wanted to ask her mother if she would visit her, but she already knew the answer. Her parents were very proud people, and the animosity between their families was too great. They would never deign to visit.
Andrew stepped forward, his eyes misted. “I return to Eton tomorrow, Ret, but I will visit you as soon as I am free.”
Margaret chuckled at that. He always said that Eton was a prison, and he came home whenever he could. “I look forward to having you, Andrew.”
He was struggling to contain his emotions, and he pulled her close, holding her tightly. “If you require anything, anything, you need only write to me.”
“I am sure I will not need anything, but I will write to you at every opportunity.”
When she pulled away, she went to her father. He looked down at her, and for the first time, he pushed his pride from his features to allow her to see his sadness. All he said was, “I trust you will never forget that this is still your family. You are a Plymouth before anything.”
The words gave her no consolation. If anything, they made her feel as though she was being sent away. “I know, Father,” she said. Andrew walked her to the carriage then he kissed her cheek and bid her farewell one final time before Saxton helped her climb the carriage. After settling in her seat, she said, “I do not wish to travel today, My Lord.”
“I thought you would be more comfortable away from town, given the rumors.”
She held his eyes. “You should have asked me what I wanted.” Margaret had no trouble departing from London right away, but she needed to assert herself in this marriage. “I had no choice initially, but I will have you know that I will be making my own decisions henceforth.”
He watched her for several seconds before he responded. “You will have every liberty you deserve, My Lady.” Margaret blinked, surprised, while his eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Every liberty I deserve?” she echoed, her ire glaring.
“Indeed. One cannot have what they have not earned.” How could he remain so calm while he insulted her?
Margaret’s eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched into fists around the sting of her reticule. “You intend to be a despotic husband, then?”
“I am your lord and husband, thus you will act according to my wishes.” A tiny smile tugged at his mouth as he said that, and Margaret found him grossly contemptible.
“What?”
Saxton ignored her and continued, “I do not have many requests in this marriage, but I expect all of them to be met. If you grant them, then I assure you that we will live peacefully.”
“Peacefully,” she said through clenched teeth. “Do you even know what that means?”
His brows snapped together. “I will not allow you to insult me, My Lady.”
“What have you been doing since we said our vows?” Margaret snapped, and his eyes narrowed. “You decided we will leave on a four-day journey without so much as considering my feelings, and now, you lay rules for me like a child.”
“They are not rules,” he said calmly which further aggravated her. “You may refuse but living together then would be difficult.”
“Then we do not have to live together. I would be happy to stay somewhere else. Better if you have a property in the north, for the further away I am, the better.”
“Oh?” Saxton raised one sardonic brow. “You do not mind living too far away from your family?”
She sucked in her breath and ignored the question. “What are your requests?” Margaret wanted to live peacefully with him because she was quickly realizing the consequence of disagreeing with him. He would keep a very calm countenance while she boiled with anger. It was not salubrious.
“I will have no mistress, and I expect you to not take a lover.” He leaned forward, and his knee touched hers, sending a wicked sensation spiraling through her. Margaret ground her teeth and glared at him. “I do not share,” he murmured, his voice rich and dark.
“I have no interest in having a lover…yet,” she replied, sounding rather petulant.
“Excellent.” He leaned back in his seat and gazed at her again while she fought very hard for her face not to color. She failed and blushed, and he grinned. The devil! “Secondly, I have an obligation to my title. I must provide an heir; thus, we must share a bed.” Her stomach tightened, but she said nothing and only nodded once. “Lastly, you may host any event you wish, but do not expect me to attend. I am a man of many occupations and little time for frivolities.”
He would not allow her to live away from him. His second request stated as much. Still, she tried to push the subject. “You will not have to tolerate any frivolity if you do not live with me.”
A humorless smile curved his mouth. “I do not have a property in the north, but I have one in Cornwall where you would be comfortable. You may live there, but only after my children are born. You may not have a lover even then.” There was a possessive note in his voice as he said the last sentence.
His response was not satisfactory, but Margaret decided to agree. There was nothing there that was unfair, at least, not now. “Very well,” she said.”
“As for your wish to remain in London,” Saxton knocked on the carriage roof, and it began to slow, “We may stay for a sennight. I promised my sister, Lilian, that I would introduce you soon, but she will have to wait.” The carriage stopped, and he gave the driver new instructions.
For some reason, Margaret did not feel any dislike toward his sister even though she had never seen her. She was glad because Saxton wounded her family and not anyone else. Her ill feelings should not extend to his relatives. As such, she did not want his sister to be disappointed just as she would not want Andrew to be.
“We may travel after a week,” she agreed, and he tilted his head.
“As you wish, Lady Saxton.”
Margaret pressed her lips together and turned to look out the carriage. Nothing more was said between them for the next hour. The carriage began to slow again as they neared Saxton House in Grosvenor Square.
Saxton suddenly cursed under his breath, and she turned from the window to look at him. “What is he doing at my house?” His gaze was on something outside the opposite window, and following it, she saw Dormer in front of the townhouse she guessed was her new residence. Saxton knocked on the roof, and the carriage halted.
Dormer spotted them and started to walk toward them, waving his cane in the air like a madman. Margaret grew stiff and turned to her husband.
“We should go before he reaches us.” She did not want an encounter with the Duke.
Saxton frowned. “Where?”
“Dorset,” she replied.
He looked momentarily surprised before he stuck his head out of the carriage window and said to the driver, “To Dorset. Now.”
“I demand satisfaction, Saxton!” Dormer bellowed as Saxton returned to his seat. “I will meet you for this.”
“No, you won’t,” Saxton muttered as the carriage rolled past the angry Duke. Margaret wondered if he would give them more trouble.
Margaret looked up from her book when the carriage slowed, wondering if they had arrived at the inn in Surrey where they would spend the night. The atmosphere in the carriage had been so tense that Saxton had left to ride outside when they stopped to change horses and one was acquired for him.
She appreciated the solitude although her thoughts refused to be kind to her as they remained on her husband. Margaret found herself thinking of what he was doing as he rode alongside the carriage and what their married life would be like—if she would ever find contentment because happiness was impossible to attain.
The door opened, and Saxton’s face appeared. He looked weary with a shadow darkening his jaw, but Margaret refused to feel any guilt for denying him the comfort within the carriage. “We have arrived,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
He helped her down, and she glanced up at the name of the inn, the Three Crowned Tree, and her eyebrows rose ever so slightly. He led her into the establishment, and they followed a steward up stairs to their rooms.
When Margaret saw that they were to share a bedchamber and a sitting room, her nerves tightened. She turned to him as soon as they were alone. “I thought we would have separate chambers.”
“Why should we when we are man and wife?” Saxton folded his arms across his chest, his gaze moving slowly over her body, warming her intimately.
“I would like my own rooms,” she declared. She was aware of her wifely obligations, but she could not bring herself to consider them while they were traveling. The actual reason was that she was still angry with herself for desiring him, and he might tempt her again if they shared a room.
Something flashed in his eyes, and his jaw hardened before he said, “As you wish.” Then without saying anything more or giving her the chance to respond, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
He was angry, and she did not know what that meant for them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“We are almost there,” Saxton said four days later, and Margaret looked up from the book on her lap. She had been staring at it instead of reading because he played with her concentration.
He had been cordial and respectful throughout their journey, and there was a tenuous truce between them. At every inn they stopped, she had her chambers where she dined and slept alone. Sometimes, he allowed the charm she saw in the music room to show, and Margaret fought to resist it and her body’s cravings. She could not allow herself to enjoy his company until she knew the truth. Even then, it would depend on what that truth was.
He pointed out the window. “Moonridge,” he said, and she immediately heard the pride in his voice. “You will love it.”
“You sound certain.” Margaret regarded him dubiously. “Do you know what is in my thoughts?”
“I could guess,” he smirked. “Look at the manor, and I will tell you what you are thinking.”
Margaret was tempted to settle back in her seat and refuse, but she was curious, both about Moonridge and Saxton’s guessing. Leaning, she looked out the window to see them on a winding road toward an enchanting manor. Parts of the stone walls were covered with vines that bore white flowers. A large fountain stood in front of the manor, and an evergreen lawn stretched as far as she could see.
“You are enchanted,” Saxton murmured.
Margaret returned to her seat. “Anyone would be enchanted by such a place. Your guess was lucky.”
He chuckled. “You wish to walk on the grass, barefoot.”
Her eyes widened. That could not have been a lucky guess. She had always loved walking barefoot on grass. “Did my brother tell you that?” It was the only way he could have known.
He lowered his eyes briefly before saying, “It does not matter if he told me. My point is, you want to do that after beholding my lawn.”
“Well, then you have guessed correctly,” she heard herself say. “But I will still maintain that it is luck.”
“I shall prove to you that it is not,” he returned confidently.
“We shall see, My Lord.” This was the charm that lent him some humanity and made her momentarily forget that he was responsible for her brother’s death.
The servants had already gathered outside when the carriage stopped, and Saxton alighted before helping her down. She was exhausted from the journey and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but she smiled and accepted the servants’ greetings as they were introduced.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Gates, and the butler, Marple, were very pleasant to her, but that was where all warmth ended because when Saxton led her into the drawing room, she saw the Dowager Viscountess sitting primly on a sofa with her hands folded on her lap.
The coldness with which the woman regarded Margaret chilled her, and she felt her hand tighten its hold on Saxton’s arm. He patted her hand which surprised her.
“My Lady,” he said as they approached the Dowager, “allow me to introduce my mother, the Dowager Viscountess of Saxton.”
The Dowager turned her face away as Margaret curtsied, and although she had not expected to be welcomed, she was wounded by the blatant rejection.
“You must be tired,” he said, drawing her away from his mother. “Would you like to go to your chambers and rest?”
How thoughtful of you. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
They were approaching the door when the Dowager said, “I hope you will be a worthy addition to the Saxton title, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret thought the manner in which the Dowager addressed her was deliberate. She was refusing to acknowledge her as Lady Saxton; therefore, Margaret had no place in this manor. Slowly, she turned and faced the Viscountess, and wearing as gracious a smile as Margaret could, she curtsied again.
“I thank you, My Lady.” When she looked up at her husband, she found his countenance dark. He was not pleased with his mother’s behavior, and Margaret appreciated his concern. He had vowed during the ceremony to protect her and provide for her until his last breath. She hoped he was keeping that promise because it would help her discover the truth.
They returned to the hall and started up the stairs. As they moved, Margaret recalled her father’s demeanor during her wedding. He had done to Saxton what the Dowager had done to her just now. One of their families was right. Either the Plymouth’s accusations were correct, or the Hills’ were innocent, and Margaret deserved to be treated poorly.
“Seth!” a voice called, pulling Margaret out of her thoughts. She turned to see a girl with sparkling blue eyes running toward them, removing her bonnet as she did. She ran into Saxton’s arms, and for the first time, she saw him truly laugh.
Pulling away from her brother, Lilian—as Margaret assumed—looked at her expectantly. “My Lady,” Saxton said, “this is my sister, Miss Lilian Hills.”
