A Worthy Wife(6)

"Oh, Lord," he muttered, retying the sash of his robe with an angry snap that almost ripped the fabric, "save me from sanctimonious, self-righteous sapskulls. But what, my dear, is to keep me from forcing my attentions upon you? I would be within my rights, you know, as your husband."

She shook her head, sending blond curls every which way. "No. I cannot believe you would use your strength against a woman."

Of course he wouldn't. "But there are other ways of persuasion, if you will. I could make you quiver with desire until you asked me, nay, begged me to make you mine." He was brushing her hair aside, off her face.

She slapped his hand away, knowing where that could lead. "But you are too much the gentleman to take a woman against her will. And it would be against my will, my lord, even if you told my body otherwise."

He stepped back and stared at her as if she were one of her Uncle Ptolemy's specimens, pinned to a board. "Your pardon, but I need to get this clear. You trust me enough not to exercise my God-given rights, but you won't let me, because I don't trust you?"

"Precisely. You see, I knew we could come to an understanding."

He slammed the connecting door on his way out. Aurora thought she heard him mutter, "Now I think I am going to be ill," but she could be wrong.



The maid woke Aurora late in the morning, saying that she'd let her sleep as long as possible, on his lordship's orders, but now my lady had to rise if they were to make London by nightfall. Certain that the earl would not like being kept waiting, Aurora hurried through her morning toilette and into her traveling ensemble, which was freshly sponged and pressed. Her hair, however, could not be as quickly repaired. The maid pursed her lips, but thankfully made no comment as to how the neat braid had turned into a brier patch.

While the woman worked, Aurora made plans. She was going to make her husband trust her. More, she was going to make him love her. She could recite the Latin names of thirteen varieties of liverworts and lichens; surely this endeavor could not be more difficult, especially when she had such promising material to work with.

Her husband was impetuous and subject to fits of temper, likely due to a spoiled upbringing and toadying associates. Other than those minor, easily correctable faults, Kenyon was kind and considerate and honorable, the perfect gentle knight of every woman's daydreams. That he was also the heroically sculpted embodiment of every woman's secret night dreams was another factor in his favor. Why, if she did not watch herself, Aurora feared, she'd be more than halfway in love with the man, after less than a day.

He had not tried to change her mind, even though both of them knew his kisses could scatter her wits like so many Ephemeroptera , mayflies. And he'd sat with her through her embarrassing affliction, made her comfortable, watched over her, ordered every amenity for her comfort. He was predisposed to care for what was his—she understood that well enough from the care he took with the hired horsesbut she truly believed he held a tiny spark of feeling for her. She would breathe that flame into a veritable fire of fondness, see if she didn't. And she'd be a countess to make him proud, a worthy wife to the Earl of Windham. Oh, he could not help coming to love her.

Unless he strangled her first.

Lord Windham had not slept a wink the entire uncomfortable night, which made two days and nights without rest except for that brief nap before dinner. Worse, he'd had too much too drink, too much of his wife's rattlebrained reasoning, and not enough physical gratification. Not nearly enough of that. None of that. Damn, even this morning he was feeling like a randy schoolboy who'd got into the headmaster's liquor cabinet.

And there was his wife, his bride, his bête noire, tripping into their sitting room as bright as her namesake in her lemony outfit and cheery good mornings. Her hair was neatly twisted under a ruched bonnet, with only a few curls left to escape, to torment a man.

Totally oblivious to his migraine, megrim, and general bad mood, Aurora was filling her breakfast plate with enough food to sustain a herd of Herefords. The place in front of the earl was empty except for a cup of black coffee, as bitter as his ruminations.

She made him feel old. He had eleven years more in his dish, but it seemed an eternity. He'd long ago lost that youthful optimism, where every day offered a new, better adventure. All his days seemed alike, offering nothing but new headaches, especially if he kept drinking as he had last night. Aurora McPhee was young and innocent, and she deserved to have her golden dreams come true. She deserved a young man to love her wholeheartedly, with no reservations, no restraints.

He announced, therefore, "I have decided not to announce our wedding in London. Bath society can wonder, but the servants here are well paid not to gossip."

Aurora spilled her chocolate. As she mopped at the tablecloth, he went on. "I thought it would be better to wait until I spoke to my solicitor to see if there was any possibility of an annulment."

"You can do that?"

"I have no idea. My man of affairs will know. Or he'll find out. There is a better chance, of course, if the marriage is not consummated, so you will have your wish to be relieved of the burden of my presence. I thought to install you at my aunt's home in Mayfair. She can take you around, introduce you to the ton , help you gather a stylish wardrobe, at my expense, of course. No one will speak of the incident in Bath. Did I mention that my aunt is Duchess Havermore? No one will question her sponsoring a new protégée, either. Her Grace has so many nieces and godchildren that she herself can hardly keep track. And if we can annul the marriage, I am sure she can find you an eligible parti . A husband of your choice, that is, who will show you the proper" He jerked his looking glass out of his coat and surveyed his bride's suddenly ashen coloring. "You are not going to be sick again, are you?"

"No." But she put down her fork. "I do think I have lost my appetite, however."





Chapter Five


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The earl was finally going to get to sleep. After a polite offer to share the pile of journals and newspapers she had taken from the inn, which he just as politely refused, Aurora sat mumchance in the carriage on the way to London. She glanced out the window; she glanced at the magazines. She did not glance at Lord Windham, not even once.

Kenyon had expected an argument over his admittedly unilateral decision to seek an annulment. He'd supposed there would be tears and recriminations, the type of scene he most loathed. Hell, he'd even prepared for her casting up her accounts again, with an empty milk pail packed in the hamper. Then he'd wondered if she would try to bargain with him, rather than lose her chance at being his countess. Lud knew Aurora held all the right cards for negotiation, for he'd consummate the marriage in the carriage, in a flash, in a fever, if she crawled into his lap. Pigs would take wing and fly first. Why, the only way she could sit any farther away from him was riding up with the driver. She was most likely glad of the chance to be rid of him, to have a London Season, to meet the man of her dreamsthe young man of her dreams.

Satisfied that he was doing the right thing and that Aurora was content, Windham pulled his hat over his eyes and went to sleep.

He didn't want her. He didn't even want to discuss the London journals with her.

He'd never wanted her, of course. He'd never wanted any wife, or he would have had one long ago. Aunt Thisbe thought his first countess had died four or five years previously, surely enough time to find a suitable bride if he had any desire to step into parson's mousetrap again. Now he obviously couldn't wait to leap out of it, the way he had the driver springing the horses.

Aurora couldn't blame him. Quite simply, she was not worthy to be Windham's wife. Why, her lack of sophistication had already driven him to drink, and she'd proven herself anything but demure, dignified, or docile, qualities an earl must require of a bride. She'd made him angry, to boot, by booting him from her bed. No, she could not blame him for wishing to be rid of her. Neither could she let him see her tears. Windham was too nice a man to burden with guilty feelings. He'd pity her. Heavens, he might even pity her enough to reconsider, and then he'd be miserable for the rest of his days. No, Aurora could not do that to such a fine gentleman. She kept her eyes firmly on the magazine in her lap. So what if it was a journal on sheep shearing? If she wasn't going to be a countess, the saints knew she needed another career.

How could he think that she should be presented to London's beau monde, and by a duchess, no less? She'd be nothing but a Phoxinus phoxinus , a minnow in a pool of glittering goldfish. No, she did not belong among London's upper elevations. But the scandal in Bath would be devastating to her aunt and uncle if she had the funds to return there, which she did not. She had no other relations she could beg for sanctuary, no friend to invite her for a long visitlike a lifetime.

Perhaps the duchess could help her find a position. Yes, that's what she would do, Aurora decided. She'd throw herself on the mercy of this unknown woman, who'd much rather find her a job, Aurora was certain, than find her part of the family.

Windham would not like her going out to work, Aurora knew. It would neither suit his notions of what was right nor satisfy his sense of responsibility for her welfare. But if he dissolved the marriage, she reasoned, he had no say in her disposal. The blasted man could not have it both ways. And she was glad to be getting out of such an uncomfortable marriage anyway, Aurora told herself, biting on her handkerchief lest she start sobbing. She'd be much better off, gainfully employed, than wed to a man who snored!