Callie Hutton Read online

  He settled into the soft leather seat and closed his eyes. But as the night before, sleep eluded him. Instead, his brain conjured up an image of a bespectacled young lady with tightly bound hair—pale-faced and tight-lipped. No doubt his bride would be undernourished, with brittle bones sticking him everywhere on his attempts to bed her. She would lie on her back, eyes tightly closed as he did his best to get her with child. He shuddered and sat up. Better to stare into the darkness than torture himself with visions of Lady Jane.

  By making only one stop, the coach arrived at the inn in Coventry right before midnight. Restless from long hours in the carriage with nothing to occupy him but his dratted thoughts, Jason strode into the inn. He brushed aside the bowing innkeeper and requested a private dining room, a meal, and a bottle of whiskey.

  Within minutes, the liquor appeared, along with a dinner of roast beef and suet pudding. The wench delivering the food smiled and pressed her generous breasts against his arm as she laid down the plates. He hesitated as he eyed her saucy look, but then just nodded his thanks.

  “M’name’s Mary if you’ll be needin’ anything else, m’lord.” She curtsied, leaving no doubt in his mind what needs she would satisfy.

  “Thank you, Mary. I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  She tossed him a toothsome smile and sauntered out the door to the main area, swinging her hips.

  He watched her leave, a stirring in his loins. Not necessarily pretty, Mary appeared clean and had a full lush body to take his mind off his problems.

  After finishing off half the bottle and all the food, he made a completely reckless decision and asked the innkeeper to send in Mary. She arrived immediately, her bodice considerably lower than it had been when she had delivered his food. Jason patted his thigh and Mary strolled over and settled her plump bottom on his lap, circling his neck with her slender arms.

  He nuzzled her neck. “Do you like your work here?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. I make good money serving food and drink.”

  “And what else do you serve, Mary?” He moved to nibble behind her ear.

  “Just food and drink, my lord.” Her sultry voice belied her words.

  He moved his hand to her shoulders and pushed the rough material of her bodice down, releasing her breasts. His palms circled the dusky tips that were begging for attention.

  “Are you sure that’s all you serve?” His hand dropped and moved slowly up her leg while his tongue entertained her nipple.

  “On occasion I might provide other services, but not often, my lord. I’m a good girl.” She wiggled on his lap, hardening him ever further.

  “I’m sure you are. Go lock the door.” He pushed her up and patted her lush bottom.

  He studied her through narrowed eyes as she flipped the lock and sauntered back, her breasts swaying as she walked.

  What the bloody hell am I doing? Really, old man—a tavern wench? Right here in Coventry?

  The old Earl would be scandalized, which solidified his decision. If forced to bed a bag of bones sometime soon, he might as well enjoy the curves and softness of Mary—a good girl. He certainly hoped so.

  The girl straddled him and playfully tugged the end of his cravat. No shy damsel this one. Maybe she could pull him out of his morose.

  Chapter Two

  The day of the Earl of Coventry’s wedding had arrived. Not having slept all night, he had spent the hours before his wedding enjoying Mary’s attentions. Then drinking, eating, gambling, and more of the wench’s ministrations—or at least he thought it was Mary. By then he was drunk enough not to remember—or indeed, even care.

  The innkeeper entered the private dining room where Jason gazed somberly at his empty glass sitting alongside two empty bottles.

  “My lord, ye asked me to let you know when ’twas half past nine o’clock.”

  Jason shook himself and tried to focus on the man. “Nine o’clock you say?”

  “Yes, my lord. Half past. Can I get ye some breakfast?”

  “No,” he shook his head slowly, “don’t think m’stomach can take it.” He attempted to stand, but fell back into the hard chair. “Bring me a mirror would you, man?”

  The innkeeper tugged on his forelock and left the room. Jason couldn’t remember ever being so foxed. He wasn’t even sure he could stand, let alone make a vow to honor and cherish some unknown woman for the rest of his life.

  A small cracked mirror presented by the innkeeper’s wife revealed an image worse than Jason had anticipated. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair in disarray, and his once starched cravat hung loose. His clothes were horribly wrinkled and the dark shadow of stubble graced his aristocratic face.

  “Tea!” He shouted in the direction of the door the innkeeper had disappeared through.

  “M’lord?” Mary was back again, looking almost as bad as he.

  “Tea, Mary. Hot and strong. Please.” He rested his crossed arms on the table in front of him, and laid his head down. At least he wasn’t suffering the nasty aftereffects of too much drink. Only because he was still drunk.

  Mary returned with a large pot of tea and proceeded to pour it into a dainty little cup. Jason brushed her hand aside, picked up the teapot and drank from it, not even wincing as the heat hit his mouth and poured down his throat.

  “M’lord, would you like me to prepare a bath for you?” she asked, watching him warily.

  “No time. Have my driver bring the carriage ’round.”

  The coach bounced and bucked all the way to Coventry Manor. With each jolt, Jason was sure he would cast up his accounts. He gulped occasional swipes from the bottle he’d grabbed before he left the inn, and stared sullenly at his boots. He’d never given much thought to his footwear. Now as he studied them, he was amazed at the fine, intricate work that went into their creation. He must find his boot maker when he returned to London and give him his thanks.

  Jason checked his watch as the coach came to a stop in front of Coventry Manor. Two minutes past ten o’clock.

  Will the old Earl’s solicitors allow for a couple of minutes of tardiness? Or perhaps the Lady Jane had an appointment with a scholar to discuss whatever it was Roman Scholars discussed.

  He stumbled as he got to the door and banged it with his fist, surprised the butler hadn’t already greeted him. Swaying while he waited, he leaned back, then grabbed the door knocker to keep from plummeting backwards down the steps. He shouted and continued to pound. “I’m here. Open the bloody door, I’ve a wedding to attend to.”

  Malcolm opened the door. The only concession the old butler made to Jason’s appearance was a slight rise of his eyebrows. “They await you in the library, my lord.”

  Jason nodded briefly and straightened his shoulders. He fumbled with his cravat, but gave up after two attempts at tying it.

  Where the hell is Grady, anyway? Why is he allowing me to appear at my wedding looking so disheveled?

  He put one foot in front of the other, using the wall for balance, as he made his way to the library. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and viewed the scene.

  A small woman, her back to him, stood speaking with one of the solicitors. All he could see of her was the knot anchored tightly to the back of her head. She wore a dark blue afternoon dress, plain and unadorned, and waved her hands around as she spoke. Jason’s gaze roamed the room. Two of the solicitors were there, along with his housekeeper, the local vicar, and the chatty Lady Jane.

  “I’m here.” He didn’t realize how loud his voice sounded until conversation ceased and all heads turned in his direction. He tried to focus on his bride, but it was hard since he was still seeing double.

  Heavens, did the old Earl arrange for me to marry twins? Peculiar, that.

  One of the solicitors—even when sober Jason didn’t know who was who—hurried over to him. “My lord, so good to see you. We’re ready to start any time you are.”

  Jason tugged once again at his limp cravat and nodded. He followed the solicitor and glanced briefly a
t Lady Jane. Now closer, he could see her. But staring too long made him dizzy, so he looked over at the vicar. “Get on with it, man.”

  “Perhaps your lordship would like to take some time to speak privately with Lady Jane before we start?” the solicitor said.

  “No.” He reached out and clutched Lady Jane’s shoulder to steady himself.

  She closed her eyes and tightened her lips as everybody else fidgeted.

  With his deep voice the vicar cleared his throat and began. “Please take Lady Jane’s right hand, my lord.”

  Jason grasped a delicate hand into his and felt a jolt. Narrowing his eyes, wondering if she’d pricked him with a pin, he glanced at Lady Jane, and then quickly looked away as the room spun again. “Proceed, sir. I’ve been traveling all night.” He burped.

  The vicar opened his book and droned on about love and marriage, and the seriousness of taking vows. Jason kept yawning and tried very hard not to fall asleep. He silently recited poetry his tutor had forced him to memorize in his youth. At one point he remembered a rather risqué poem he and Drake had made up during one night of debauchery, and snorted. All heads turned to him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  He must have provided the necessary answers, because before he knew it, the vicar removed his spectacles and smiled at them. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Jason turned to Lady Jane, bent slightly, and kissed the air near her left ear. She lifted her head and looked directly into his face. His mouth went completely dry as he gazed into two stunning violet eyes, the rims shimmering with tears. For one second he felt completely sober and a total arse. He drew back quickly, bumping his elbow into one of the solicitors who held out a pen.

  “The marriage book, my lord. You need to sign.” The stiff-necked man handed Jason a hefty tome. He brushed the man aside, balanced the book in his hand, signed where he’d indicated, then shoved it at the solicitor.

  “Going to bed,” Jason mumbled. He hesitated, and putting his arm out to keep from falling over, left the library and proceeded up the stairs to his bedroom. He collapsed face-first onto the bed fully clothed.

  I’m bloody married.

  The sentence repeated in his brain before the much-welcomed relief of sleep overcame him.

  …

  The new Lady Coventry watched in shock as her husband literally stumbled from the room, knocking into furniture as he left. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes of tears. A surge of anger swept through her, erasing any remnant of self-pity. She didn’t deserve this.

  Apparently Lord Arrogant wasn’t happy about being married to a stranger. Well, he was a stranger to her as well and he certainly hadn’t done anything to gain her favor.

  “My lady, you need to sign the marriage book as well.” The small, beady-eyed solicitor waved toward the book Jason had just shoved at him.

  Olivia picked up the pen and added her signature.

  “Excuse me, Lady Coventry, I am a bit confused on one matter.”

  She cast him a questioning glance.

  “The letters from your father that we found in the late Earl’s papers referred to you as Lady Olivia, yet the betrothal agreement indicated Lady Jane Grant.”

  She smiled. “I understand the confusion. My full name is Lady Jane Olivia Grant. However, since my mother’s name was also Jane, Father always called me Olivia, and I’m afraid the name has stuck, and is how I am known.”

  Before the solicitor could respond, Malcolm appeared at her side and bowed slightly. “My lady, Cook has prepared a wedding breakfast, if you will step this way.”

  She smiled politely and stiffened her shoulders. Small matter that she was a bride about to eat her wedding feast minus her groom. Appearances must be maintained. She turned to the vicar and solicitors and bid them join her.

  Tossing uneasy glances at each other, the small party trailed her to the dining room, where Olivia played hostess as if nothing was at all amiss on her most unusual wedding day.

  Shortly after the endless breakfast concluded, she stood, excused herself and made a gracious exit before hurrying to her room.

  The elaborate chamber, connected to the Earl’s bedroom by a solid wooden door, contained dark, dreary furniture. The previous Lady Coventry’s tastes had run toward dull draperies and bed coverings. A deep green carpet covered the wooden floor. A fire already lit in the enormous fireplace drew her.

  She extended her hands to the comforting warmth, then ran her palms up and down her arms. England’s weather dampened her mood as much as the events of the day. How she longed for the sunshine of Italy.

  Olivia paced for a while, studying the door that separated her from her new husband. Feeling as though she was doing something wrong, she tip-toed across the room and pressed her ear against the door. The sound of heavy snoring greeted her.

  Olivia rang for a maid and requested a cold cloth and a vial of lavender for a headache. Anger warred with sadness as she lay on her bed in the dimness of dusk. How dare that man treat her with such disdain? Did he ever think that perhaps she, too, wasn’t thrilled to be shackled to someone she didn’t know? She might be a lady through and through, but she had every intention of giving her husband a piece of her mind in the morning.

  …

  The gloomy weather had finally cleared and the sun peeked over the horizon, casting the room in scant light. Jason groaned and rolled over, dragging the pillow over his head. Slowly he came awake and realized he was still in his clothes. Even his boots. Why the devil had Grady let him sleep in his clothes?

  After a minute or so, his brain un-muddled and he remembered where he was. His bed at Coventry Manor, where he lay fully dressed, starving, and—God help him—married.

  When the last part filtered into his brain, he stretched his neck, and amid groans at the abuse to his very large head, examined the other side of the mattress. He still sprawled on top of the coverlet, and had apparently spent the night—his wedding night—alone. And since none of his garments were missing, or even loosened, he supposed there hadn’t been anything worth remembering. Had the new Lady Coventry passed the nocturnal hours in the chamber next to his?

  The first thing he needed was strong tea, then food, a bath, and clean clothes. In that order. He rang for a servant. He probably should have brought his man with him. He wasn’t even sure where his fresh clothes were. Most likely still in the carriage, since he never kept anything decent at the Manor. The door opened and a young lad he didn’t recognize entered the room.

  “You rang, m’lord?”

  “Who are you?” Jason squinted at the boy.

  “Ethan, m’lord.”

  He nodded. “I would like a pot of tea and food.”

  “Certainly, m’lord. Would you like a tray here in your room, or will you be joining Lady Coventry in the breakfast room?”

  “Lady Coventry.” He groaned. “Forgot about her for a minute.” He studied the young man. “I’m sure it will be some time before her ladyship rises.”

  “No, m’lord. Lady Coventry is now in the breakfast room.”

  Jason drew out his watch, his eyebrows rising. “At seven o’clock?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  What the blazes is the woman doing up so early?

  “Never mind, Ethan, just tell my driver I would like to leave immediately. I’ll stop for something on the way back to London.”

  Jason used the water in the wash bowl to rinse his face and clean his teeth. Then running his fingers through his hair, left the room and headed downstairs. He passed the breakfast room on his way out. The door to the room remained closed, and the muted sound of two women conversing reached his ears. Lady Coventry.

  Unable to conjure up a picture of the woman, he closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He rubbed his temples and turning abruptly, walked out the front door.

  His long legs ate up the distance to the waiting carriage.

  “Where are we headed, m’Lord?”

  “London.” Jason answered as the driver shut the door.
r />   …

  Lady Coventry sat very still and quite alone at the breakfast table. The morning after her wedding. Since sleep had eluded her all night, she’d thrown the covers off and startled the staff by ringing for a maid so early to assist her. She shook her head, her lips tight. Time had not squelched her anger. She doubted she would ever recover from the humiliation she’d endured at the hands of that man.

  “My lady, shall we serve breakfast now, or wait for his lordship?”

  Olivia jumped. The maid’s entrance had been so silent she hadn’t even been aware of her presence until she spoke.

  “No, you may serve. I have no idea when his lordship will join us.”

  As she and the maid conversed, Olivia became aware of the sound of someone coming down the stairs. She held her breath when the footsteps halted in front of the closed door. Just as the servant left to return to the kitchen, the footsteps continued and the front door opened and closed. Rising from her seat, Olivia hurried to the window in time to see Jason climb into the coach he’d apparently arrived in yesterday.

  “London.” The deep voice drifted back to her as the driver shut the door. Unwanted tears sprang to her eyes as the coach made its way down the long driveway.

  Pride made her return to her seat and daintily place the serviette on her lap. The maid entered, accompanied by several footmen carrying platters of food. Olivia’s stomach rolled.

  “I’m sorry to put you through all the trouble, but I seem to have an unsettled stomach this morning.” She nodded at the abundance. “Please return everything to the kitchen. I’ll just have tea.”

  She fought tears again at the look that passed between the maid and footman.

  Well, I’ve really come up in the world when my servants feel sorry for me.

  After two bracing cups of strong tea, Olivia left the breakfast room and wandered into the library. She walked through the room, dragging her fingertips over various pieces of furniture. A richly furnished room, a large desk created the focal point. Books lined the walls, and a cheery fire blazed in the fireplace. The window drew her with its view of the gardens, now winter bare. She leaned her head against the glass as one tear rolled down her cheek.