Married: The Virgin Widow (6 page)

There was no help for it, though. She had no choice but to accept Ford’s offer. That did not mean she would tolerate the kind of abuse from him that she’d endured from his cousin. Cyrus knew things that had given him a terrible power over her. But she knew something about Ford that would give her a weapon to resist him if he ever tried to hurt her. She only hoped he would never force her to use it.

Laura was about to cut him down to size—Ford sensed it as surely as an impending summer storm.

She lingered at the dining-room door after her sisters had excused themselves and the servants cleared the last
few dishes. No doubt she intended to tell him all the things her mother’s presence had prevented her from saying that afternoon. Well, let her! He did not care how she insulted or raged at him. It amused him to bait her into losing control of her emotions while maintaining a firm hold on his.

Though, truth to tell, he had not meant to provoke her by taking her mother for a walk in the garden. He pitied poor Mrs Penrose, being slowly suffocated by her daughters’ concern.

Steeling himself against Laura’s hostility, he raised his brandy. “Have you decided to join me in a drink?”

“No. I have two things to tell you.” Laura pushed the door shut and stood with her back to it. “I want to beg your pardon for the way I spoke to you this afternoon. Mama enjoyed her outing, which seems to have done her no harm. Her color is better than I have seen it in a great while.”

Prepared for criticism, Ford found it hard to hide his surprise at Laura’s frank, sincere apology. “I…never meant to alarm you.”

He could not bring himself to say he was sorry. That would be an admission he’d done something wrong, which he had not. Neither would he promise to consult her in future. That would seem to be asking her permission. Unlike Cousin Cyrus, who might have indulged his young wife, Ford was determined to be master of his house.

“What is the other thing you wish to tell me?” The moment the words left his lips, he knew. Laura was about to give him her answer. His gut tightened. What if she refused?

Inhaling a deep breath, Laura tilted her chin to a
resolute angle. “After considering your proposal, I have decided to accept. As you say, it will be a most…convenient arrangement.”

“Very good.” A gust of elation swelled Ford’s chest. “I shall set out tomorrow for Lambeth to procure a special licence. We can be wed before the week is out.”

“No!” Laura’s hand flew to her bosom, fingers spread protectively. “That is, I see no need for such a rush. My first wedding was a rather…hasty event. This time I want banns read and our neighbours invited to the wedding.”

Banns? That would require the vicar to announce their impending marriage on each of the next three Sundays. “Do you think it appropriate to make such a public fuss over a marriage of convenience?”

“Why not? You said we should get married
for the sake of propriety
. What could be more proper than having banns read in the local church and all the neighbours witnessing our nuptials?”

She had him there. Ford acknowledged it with a rueful nod. He had waited seven years already. What would a few more weeks matter? It would give him time to anticipate and savour his approaching victory.

Rising from his chair, he walked slowly toward Laura. “Shall we seal our betrothal with a kiss?”

A flicker of alarm leapt in her eyes. For an instant Ford thought she might turn and flee. But why? In every other situation, she had stood up to him, refusing to be intimidated. Why did the prospect of physical contact between them unsettle her so? Did she find him repulsive? She hadn’t used to.

“A kiss?” she repeated in a tremulous whisper. Then in a firmer voice she added, “Of course…if you wish.”

“If I
desire
,” Ford murmured. “And I do.”

An arm’s length away from her, he stopped. “Since our last kiss was a rather hasty event, I believe we deserve a proper one this time.”

Their kiss in the bluebell wood had taken him unawares—shaken him out of his accustomed restraint. This time he was determined to maintain control no matter how powerful the provocation.

His gaze riveted on Laura’s lips, he reached up to cradle her chin with his fingers. Then he moved closer and lowered his face to hers, tilting her head to meet his approach. She resisted the firm pressure of his touch just enough to stoke the heat of his desire. And when his lips hovered over hers, ready to claim them, the rapid gust of her breath whispered against his skin. He raised his other hand to stroke her neck, relishing the mad flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

With a sigh of anticipation, he played his lips across hers, barely making contact, savouring the silky friction when he did. Half a dozen times he brushed her mouth, increasing the pressure of each one by a minute degree. On the final pass, he felt her lips part slightly. A bolt of searing satisfaction ripped through him, igniting a fire in his loins.

His control threatened to slip away, but he clung to it with grim determination. Extending his tongue, he eased the hot, wet tip into the narrow fissure between her lips and slowly pried them open. When at last he gained entry to the sultry cavern of her mouth, he explored, caressed and tasted Laura to her delicious depths.

The wicked hum of lust in his veins urged him to tug up her skirts, fumble open the buttons of his breeches
and take her there, up against the door. All that stopped him was his fierce resolve not to lose control and a troublesome remnant of tenderness he had thought long since purged from his heart.

An even more troubling thought slithered into Ford’s mind, piercing his triumph with sharp fangs and injecting noxious venom. Laura might have promised to marry him, but that was no guarantee she would. Perhaps she only wanted this month-long betrothal to give her time to secure a husband more to her liking. And what if her true motive for wanting such a public wedding was so she could humiliate him before all his neighbours?

Breaking abruptly from their kiss, he wrenched open the door behind her and growled, “Away with you. Go!”

D
id Ford want her or not? Laura asked herself as they drove to church on Sunday morning with her sisters. A few days after their bewildering betrothal kiss, the only question that perplexed her more was whether she wanted him. After the other night, it seemed the answer might be…yes.

Buried beneath stifling ashes of fear and mistrust, nearly quenched by shame, an ember of desire smouldered within her. Whenever she remembered Ford’s deep, brandied kiss or the restrained intensity of his touch, that ember threatened to set her on fire.

How had Ford felt about their kiss? She stole a sidelong glance at him as her sisters chattered on about some harmless bit of local gossip. As usual, his harshly handsome features betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling.

What had made him push her away when his passion had reached at its sizzling peak? Could her reluctance have repelled him as it had Cyrus? She felt
like a fool, understanding so little about men after five years of marriage.

Without any warning, Ford spoke. “I have decided to host a ball to celebrate our engagement.”

“A ball?” Susannah squealed, clapping her hands. “How splendid! Laura never breathed a hint of it to us, the sly minx.”

“That is because I knew nothing of it until this moment.” Laura tried to stifle her annoyance. Would it have been too great an inconvenience for Ford to ask her wishes in the matter?

She appreciated his kindness to her mother and admired the effort he was making to improve the estate. But when he arranged matters to suit himself without consulting her, it made her feel as controlled and powerless as she had been with Cyrus.

“I expect Ford wanted to surprise you,” suggested Belinda, putting a pleasant face on the situation, as was her habit. “I should enjoy a ball, though we haven’t any ball gowns that aren’t years out of fashion, nor proper dancing slippers. I fear our shabbiness would disgrace him.”

“That would never do.” Ford’s firm mouth tightened in a frown of mock-gravity. “I can abide anything but disgrace.”

Though Laura knew he meant nothing by the quip, his mention of
disgrace
still gave her a qualm. If he ever guessed the disgrace she could unleash upon him if she chose, he would treat her with far more consideration.

“I reckon I have no alternative,” he continued, “but to bring the three of you along to London when I go there on business this week. While I look for suitable premises and hunt up the brother of my partner, you
ladies can shop for ball gowns, wedding wear and my bride’s trousseau.”

There he went again, arranging
her
life without the slightest regard for her wishes.

“We cannot all go away and leave Mama,” Laura protested. “And how are we to pay for all these new clothes?”

Perhaps with the three thousand pounds he refused to believe she no longer had?

“I have already discussed the idea with your mother,” replied Ford with vexing good humour. “She thinks it will do you all good to get up to London for a few frivolous days. As for the bills, have them sent to Hawkesbourne. By the time they arrive, we will be married and I will pay them gladly.”

He had discussed it with her mother, but not mentioned it to her? Laura wished she could believe Belinda’s explanation, that Ford had planned the ball and the trip to London as surprises he hoped would please her. But it felt more like he was forcing her every move. Wasn’t it enough that he was compelling her to wed him? How much worse would it be when he gained a husband’s power over her?

Before she could raise any further objections, their carriage came to a halt in front of the old parish church, St Botolph’s. The solid sanctuary of ivy-covered Horsham stone dated from Norman times.

Laura sensed many eyes upon her and Ford as they took their seats in the right-hand front pew, which generations of Barretts had occupied before them. Across the aisle sat the other noble family of the parish, the Dearings. The young Marquis of Bramber was not in attendance, but his great-uncles, Lord Edward and Lord
Henry, were there along with his sisters, Lady Artemis and Lady Daphne. The latter, a vivacious little beauty with wide blue eyes and golden curls was a particular friend of Susannah’s.

Laura had never managed to strike up a close acquaintance with the proud, reserved Lady Artemis. Though the two sisters shared a certain similarity in their fine features, their overall looks were as opposite as a glittering ray of sunshine and a cool, shimmering moonbeam. Lady Artemis was tall and slender, with raven hair, alabaster skin and striking violet eyes.

This morning she looked across the aisle and acknowledged Laura with a polite nod. Or had that been meant for Ford?

Susannah’s warning echoed in Laura’s mind.
I’m sure either of Lord Bramber’s sisters would have him before you could bat an eye.
Despite her conflicting feelings about Ford and her reservations about marrying him, jealousy wrung Laura in its tight, possessive grip.

Following the Second Lesson, the curate mounted the lectern and spoke in a loud voice. “I publish the Banns of Marriage between Ford, Lord Kingsfold of Hawkesbourne, and Laura, Dowager Lady Kingsfold of Hawkesbourne. If any of you know cause, or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”

A furtive murmur stole through the sanctuary after the banns were read. Though Laura pretended not to hear, her ears tingled furiously. She could imagine what was being said. Censorious whispers had dogged her ever since she’d come to Hawkesbourne, as Cyrus Barrett’s
hastily wed young bride, with her dependent family in tow. She’d hoped her decorous conduct over the years might improve their neighbours’ opinion of her. Now she wondered if that had been wishful thinking.

Once the service concluded, a throng of neighbours surrounded Ford at the church door to welcome him home and offer congratulations on his betrothal. Shunted aside by the crush of people jostling to speak to him, Laura drifted into the churchyard where she found Sidney Crawford standing off by himself.

She could not help notice the longing looks he cast in Belinda’s direction as her sisters engaged in animated conversation with Lady Daphne. “I think my sister looks especially pretty this morning, don’t you?”

“I have never seen her anything less than beautiful.” The words seemed to burst out before he could stop them. “I beg your pardon, my lady! I meant no offense.”

“None was taken, I assure you.” Laura edged a little closer to him, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. “I am certain Belinda would be delighted to hear of your admiration.”

Before he had a chance to respond, Ford’s voice rumbled behind them. “Congratulating my fiancée, are you, Crawford?”

It was a perfectly civil question, but the tone held a sharp edge of menace. Drat the man! Did he have to discourage the one neighbour willing to offer her a kind word?

Mr Crawford turned pale. “J-just so, my lord. I must congratulate you, as well, on your fine choice of a wife.”

Bobbing a hasty bow, he fled.

Ford gave a most infuriating chuckle. “A nervous fellow, your Mr Crawford. I get the feeling he doesn’t much like my company.”

He offered Laura his arm, but she ignored it, marching back toward the carriage. Not caring whether Ford heard her, she muttered, “He is not the only one.”

So Laura did not care for his company? Ford fumed as his carriage rolled north over the High Weald toward London. She flattered herself if she thought it mattered to him! The only reason he’d brought her along to London was to keep her away from Sidney Crawford while he was absent from Hawkesbourne.

The way the two of them had stolen off for a secretive tête-à-tête in the churchyard the moment his back was turned had put him on his guard. Crawford’s nervous behaviour and abrupt exit were clear signs of a guilty conscience. Laura’s reluctance to come to London and her undisguised irritation at having her chat with Crawford interrupted were clear evidence she was up to something.

Not that any one would suspect it, seeing her now. Ford cast a sidelong glance at his betrothed, dozing peacefully with her head lolled against his arm. Her scent made him fancy he was sitting in the midst of an orange grove on a sultry night with all the trees in bloom. She looked a picture of angelic innocence with a single golden curl tumbled over her brow. How deceiving appearances could be.

If she planned to deceive him again, as she had seven years ago, she would not find him as easy a mark as she had then. He was no longer a love-blinded young fool without influence or resources. He
would
get her to the
altar this time and he
would
get her into his bed, if it meant spending a fortnight shadowing her every move.

Gradually the muffled clatter of horses’ hooves and the rolling of the carriage wheels lulled Ford to sleep.

A while later, he woke with a start, uncertain how long he’d been dozing. Quite a while, it seemed, for the view out the carriage window showed them to be on the outskirts of Southwark.

Laura was still asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, the way it never would have if she’d been awake. On the opposite seat, Susannah slept, slumped against Belinda, who stared out the window, a tear sliding down her cheek. When she heaved a muted sob, Ford realised that was what had woken him.

“What’s the matter, Belinda?” He kept his voice low so as not to rouse her sisters. “Are you ill?”

She shook her head slowly. “I just saw h-home…I mean, the house where we grew up…for the first time since we left. A cousin of Papa’s lives there now. His horrid wife could hardly wait to get her hands on it.”

Ford craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the Penrose house. He recalled a long-ago day and a sour-faced woman answering his frantic enquiries about Laura.

“I’m sure I don’t know where they’ve gone. She’s made a fine match to some rich, old lordship. Perhaps she had him take her on a bridal tour to Paris to spend all his money.” The woman had sounded frankly envious of Laura’s good fortune. Every word from her sneering lips had struck a blow to Ford’s fragile hope that Laura’s tersely worded letter breaking their engagement was some preposterous mistake.

Those wrenching memories hardened his bitterness, shoring up the weak spots Laura had begun to sap in his defences.

He continued to gaze out the window as the carriage turned on to a familiar stretch of Harleyford Street. But something looked different.

“What became of your father’s place of business?” he asked Belinda. “There is a new building where it used to be.”

“It was destroyed.” Belinda wiped the tear from her cheek. “By the fire that killed Papa.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Of course, you were abroad then.” Belinda lower lip quivered. “It was a terrible time. We were afraid the shock would kill Mama. Then having to give up our house so quickly. I don’t know what would have become of us if Laura had not married Lord Kingsfold and offered us a home with them.”

Ford reeled as if she’d just struck him in the face. Before he could collect his scattered wits, the carriage hit a deep rut in the road, jarring the two sleepers awake. Laura abruptly pulled herself upright.

Susannah stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”

“Newington,” said Belinda. “Near Elephant and Castle.”

“I can’t wait to see the city again!” Susannah peered out the carriage window at one of the busiest intersections south of the Thames. “I can scarcely remember the last time I was here. Is anyone else hungry? I hope they give us a good supper at Osborne’s.”

Ford scarcely heard her; his mind was spinning with
questions that his brief conversation with Belinda had raised. He watched Laura out of the corner of his eye as the carriage made its way up London Road, past the obelisk in the middle of St George’s Circus, then across the Thames over Waterloo Bridge.

By the time they reached Osborne’s Hotel, nestled in the elegant Adelphi Terraces, Ford’s curiosity had intensified to a burning itch.

Scarcely able to master his impatience, he secured accommodation for their party, then turned from the front desk, offering Laura his arm. “I could do with a breath of air and a chance to stretch my legs. While our luggage is being unloaded, let us take a stroll along the promenade in front of Royal Terrace. It has a fine view of the river.”

Susannah eagerly endorsed the idea and Belinda pronounced herself willing to go along with whatever the rest decided. They were soon walking along the wrought-iron-fenced terrace overlooking the Thames.

It was a fine spring day with a fresh breeze blowing from the west. The great river bustled with watercraft of every size and kind. Susannah flitted about the promenade, towing Belinda by the hand, first pointing east toward the great dome of St Paul’s, then west toward the austere dignity of Whitehall, exclaiming over them as if she had never seen either before. Ford suspected her show of vivacity might be for the benefit of two swaggering young bucks who were also enjoying the view.

Ford and Laura stood at the eastern end of the promenade, peering out over the line of slender, spiked railings that enclosed the Adelphi’s lofty terrace. Down on the river, spritsail barges ferried bumpers of coal and
barrels of wine to the wharf below for storage in the great arched vaults. The bustle reminded Ford of Singapore when the great junk fleet arrived from Amoy. It made him unaccountably nostalgic for the place.

Though he had not appreciated it at the time, he now realised his life there had been enviably straightforward with nothing to do but work hard and make his fortune. He’d been fired with such righteous certainty then, not nagged by doubts and taunted by conflicting needs, as he’d been from the moment he arrived back at Hawkesbourne and seen Laura again.

He stared across the Thames at the Southwark bankside. “Why did you not send word to me of your family’s plight when your father died?”

That was almost as much a betrayal of him as her hasty marriage to his cousin. He wanted answers from her. He deserved them and he
would
get them.