Three Weeks With Lady X(54)

       
           



       

She hadn't fought back against Lady Rainsford's ugly insults. She hadn't  said another word after coming forward to claim Rose as her own. That  wasn't like her.

He stared into the dark, waiting.

Planning.





Chapter Thirty-one

India lay on her back, staring up at the bed canopy. She felt like the  ice princess in the fairy story, the one with a frozen heart. Someone  had carved out the inside of her body and replaced her heart with ice.

Evidence of that? Next to her was a valiant and handsome lord, a  fairy-tale prince. She should have been indescribably happy at this  moment.

Vander was on his side, head propped on one hand, watching her. She knew  he had a sweet expression, because she'd glanced at him. She also knew  that he was able to keep his mouth shut, because he wasn't saying  anything. And she knew his body was as muscled as any medieval knight,  because there it was, albeit clothed, next to her on the bed.

There was no unmarried woman in all England who wouldn't secretly want  to lie next to a future duke while he gazed at her with that expression.  It was scandalous to invite him to do so, of course, but she was  determined to erase the memory of Thorn lying beside her. Not that Thorn  had ever given her a worshipful glance, because he hadn't.

Vander must have gotten tired of waiting for her to speak, because he  reached out and gently put a hand on her wrist. It was a large hand, but  she didn't think it was quite as large as Thorn's.

Thorn's body was traced all over with scars. Like a warrior's.

Again she reminded herself that Thorn had never looked at her the way Vander was now. Vander seemed to think she was wonderful.

Thorn looked at her as if she were mad, and sometimes, as if she made  him laugh. The rest of the time he looked at her with such raw desire  that he seemed ready to throw her to the ground.

Well, he'd done that, hadn't he? He had taken her like a sluttish  housemaid, downstairs, where anyone could have caught them. She couldn't  have been the first woman to fall into Mr. Dautry's snare. She was sure  of it. There were probably broken hearts strewn all over England.

"India," Vander said quietly. He began tracing a soothing pattern on her arm.

She glanced at him again, just to confirm that he was as handsome as she  thought. He was. Many English gentlemen had jaws and chins that receded  in a steady slope right down to their necks. Vander looked like one of  those Greek statues she'd put in Thorn's attic. They would have  beautiful children together.

What's more, he gave her a feeling of safety. He was big and bold, and  he would frighten off Lady Rainsford or anyone else who thought to  attack her. He would be a good husband.

She could do this.

She could sleep with him. And marry him. Surely.

"In the scene with Lady Rainsford, you were like St. George killing the dragon," she said, managing a weak smile.

"Alas, the dragon is not dead."

"It was very honorable, though, the way you announced that we were already married."

"It is the desire of my heart," Vander stated, his eyes intent on hers.

In the last hour, he had said all the respectful, adoring things that  Thorn had never said or thought. What's more, Vander was on the same bed  with her, and hadn't tried to kiss her. He cherished and respected her.

They would have a fine marriage.

Above her, the bed curtains were gathered and pleated into a pretty  rosette. She was done with lying. "There was a slender chance that I may  have been carrying Thorn's child," she said, not looking to the side.  "It did not come to pass."

Unable to resist, she turned her head. Vander's jaw was clenched.

"Are you disgusted with me?" she whispered.

"I am grappling with a wish to murder my closest friend."

"I led him to believe that I had experience," she said drearily. "It's my fault."

"How could anyone believe that you are a loose woman? You are like a treasure that a man could spend his life unwrapping."

"Thorn believed me. And then when he announced that we would marry, I  refused and told him that I would give him our child when it was born."  Tears pressed on her eyes and made them ache. "He believed me. Both  times, he believed me."

Vander leaned closer. "He's damaged, India. I don't want to make excuses  for him, but that's the truth. Once we marry, any child you carry will  be mine." His eyes lightened and his mouth curved into a smile. "In  fact, let's make love right now."

He was trying to make her feel better, so India smiled at him. But tears  were beginning to spill from her eyes. "Thorn desires me, but he  doesn't love me."                       
       
           



       

Vander sighed. "He's my best friend, but he's also an ass, who took  advantage of you. He never should have slept with you, let alone without  using a French letter."

Hot tears ran down India's cheeks. "He said . . . he said he couldn't  control himself around me." The sympathy in Vander's eyes was like a  kick in the stomach. "I suppose that's what men always say."

This day had definitely been the worst of her life, other than the day  she had been told of her parents' death. "You rescued me from Lady  Rainsford," she said, a little sob breaking in her chest. "He just stood  there, watching."

"That's not quite true. To be fair, I thought he would strangle the woman."

India had forgotten the moment when Thorn's face went black and he moved  toward Lady Rainsford, fists clenched. "But you told her we were  married and forced her to stop calling me names."

Vander pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "Thorn may be unable to  see you clearly," he said, gently wiping away her tears, "but I can."

India was bent on telling him everything. "After . . . after she had said those things to me, and I-" She faltered to a halt.

"Why did you say that Rose was your child?" Vander asked.

"I wasn't thinking. I got angry, and I wanted Lady Rainsford to stop  ranting. But it's probably just as well. Thorn wants to marry someone  sweet and kind. He told me that Lala was perfect for him."

"Are you in love with him?" Vander's warm brown eyes were nothing at all like Thorn's wintery gray ones.

"He made me feel beautiful, and he listened to me." She managed to  shrug. "I sound like the seduced virgin in a melodrama, don't I?"

Vander ran his fingers down her cheek. "I cannot tell you what Thorn is  or was thinking, India. All I know is that you are unlike any other  woman I've ever met. You're exquisite, and brilliant, and brave. You are  perfect for me."

"I'm not like this," she whispered, wiping away another tear. "I don't  cry. Even when my parents left me, I didn't cry." The sympathy in his  eyes was humiliating. "And I don't whisper either!"

Thorn didn't love her. He didn't care. He believed her lies, even when  she told him-stupidly told him-an absurd falsehood that a stranger could  have seen through.

It was over, absolutely over. She simply had to make herself believe that.

"All I can say is that I'm deeply grateful to the loathsome Lady  Rainsford," Vander said. "I had the chance to proclaim that you were my  wife. And it felt good, India. It felt right. You are my future duchess.  Let's see how it sounds: Hello, Your Grace."

His thumb rubbed her bottom lip, and his eyes flared.

"Hello, wife."





Chapter Thirty-two

Thorn arrived at the church door at six o'clock the next morning. The  door was locked, and the village square was hushed and silent. The only  sign of life came from the bakery across the square. Since there were no  benches he took a seat on a gravestone, and waited.

He had never been one to ride to the hounds. But that was because he saw  no point in chasing after animals, when the world of humans was so  predatory. Now his entire body was poised for the hunt, waiting for the  moment when either the vicar or India would appear. Either one.

But no one came. After some time, the baker's door opened, signaling  that fresh bread was available. As if on cue, villagers began to appear,  greeting each other as they headed across the square for a fresh loaf. A  few of them glanced at him, sitting with his arms folded, but they said  nothing.

Thorn was quite certain that neither his dour expression nor his  battered face was welcoming. Moreover, by now his instincts were  starting to tell him that something was wrong. If he were Vander, he  would take India to the church first thing in the morning.

Unless they were still in bed. Unless . . . His jaw clenched again. If  India and Vander were truly together, and India was happy, he would  leave. He would probably leave England altogether.

It could be that his father had made a mistake. They had traveled to  some other town, which is why he'd been unable to find mention of them  at the inns.