Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes: Lord Havelock's List / Portrait of a Scandal

She stood quite still, eyes closed, head bowed against the tide of humiliation that washed over her.

She was such a fool.

He’d been honest with her from the start. He’d told her he was looking for a convenient wife. That he’d been in a hurry to get one, so that he could get on with the far more important business of rescuing Julia.

At what point had she forgotten that? When had she started hoping there might be a glimmer of truth in what Aunt Pargetter said about him falling for her? Men didn’t need to even like a woman to want to get her naked and in a bed. She knew that. She’d been brought up in a coastal town swarming with lusty sailors, for heaven’s sake!

She clasped her hands to her waist as her middle lurched almost painfully. How on earth could she possibly have thought that such a handsome, wealthy, titled man would suddenly become enamoured of a penniless, plain little...mouse of a creature like her? She’d mistaken his relief at finding a compliant, orphaned, modest woman to be his convenient wife so quickly for delight in her.

She shook her head. It had been useless flinging the list back amongst his other papers. The words of it were scored into her brain as though carved with a knife.

The sound of footsteps striding along the corridor had her opening her eyes and gazing in horror at the door. She couldn’t face him, in all his good humour, not now, not while she felt so...wounded!

To her relief, the feet kept on walking. It must just have been another guest returning to his room, or one of the hotel staff bustling about their business.

Still, it had been a warning. With fingers that shook, she poured some tea into her cup, selected a pastry at random and put it on to a plate. If he walked in now, he would simply see a woman taking tea. She would make her face show nothing of what she felt.

And she would not weep.

* * *

When Lord Havelock eventually returned, she was still doggedly dry-eyed. Sitting stock-still at the table with her cup of tea, untouched, in front of her.

‘Sitting in the dark?’ He frowned at her as she started, then stared at him as though she wasn’t quite sure who he was.

‘You should have rung for candles.’ He strode across and tugged on the bell pull. ‘And the fire has almost gone out, too.’

She turned, slowly, to look at it.

‘At least you’ve had something to eat...’ He frowned as he noted that nothing appeared to have been touched. Even her teacup was full.

Though her eyes were empty.

‘I’ve been a perfect beast, haven’t I,’ he said, pulling up the other chair to the table and grasping her hands. ‘To leave you alone for such a long time.’ He raised each hand in turn, kissing it penitently.

She looked at him in confusion. No wonder she’d started to think he was developing some real affection for her. But this was just...gallantry. If she’d had any experience of suitors, in the past, she would have known that this was how men behaved with women. That it meant nothing.

He should have picked either Dotty or Lotty. Either of them would have coped with him far, far better than she was doing.

‘Well,’ he said, starting to chafe her hands between his own. ‘I’ve achieved everything I needed to get done today, so now I’m all yours.’ He gave an uneasy laugh. ‘Though from the look you’re giving me that information doesn’t exactly please you. Dash it, where’s that waiter? Your hands are like ice. Your feet, too, I dare say.’

She thought she’d kept her face impassive, but something must have shown, for he shook his head and said ruefully, ‘Ah, Mary. You don’t have anything to worry about. On my word of honour, I’ll do better from now on. To start with, we’ll have a slap-up meal, and...and talk to each other. Yes? Not downstairs in one of the public rooms, but up here, since you are looking a little...’

Plain? Mousy? Not smartly dressed enough to be able to look the well-heeled clientele in the eye?

‘Uncomfortable,’ he finished.

‘I...I don’t feel very hungry,’ she said. ‘Today has been...just a bit...rather...’

‘Hasn’t it, though? Not two weeks ago I thought I’d never get married. Now here I am in a hotel room with my bride, on my wedding night. Takes your breath away, don’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Do you know what I think?’

She shook her head. That was the trouble. She kept imagining he was thinking things he’d told her point-blank he wasn’t going to think.

‘I think by leaving you hanging all afternoon, you’ve ended up feeling like a game bird ready for plucking. And that I ought to set about making you feel like a bride, instead.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you know very well what I mean,’ he growled, pulling her to her feet.

She uttered a squeak of surprise when he hefted her into his arms.

A woman with more pride, she expected, would have put up some form of protest.

Mary put her arms round his neck, buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his solid warmth as he strode with her over to his bedroom.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_05dcff38-4b94-5eda-bfb8-ba6a7f4ce681)

He tumbled them both on to the bed and kissed her with an ardour that left her breathless. And strangely comforted.

Even though he’d only chosen her with his head, not his heart, he had chosen her. There must be dozens of poor, plain, penniless orphans in London, yet he hadn’t looked any further once he’d met her.

And, yes, maybe that was only because he was in such a hurry to get married, but...

With a moan that was half distress, half desperation, she curled her fingers into the luxuriant softness of his hair and kissed him back for all she was worth.

They were married now. Did it really matter how it had come about? No. It was what they made of their future that mattered.

Her response brought a feral growl of appreciation from his throat. And then, for a few moments, it was as though he had been let off some invisible leash. His hands were all over her while his body strained against hers in a way that thrilled her to the soles of her boots.

His excitement called to something buried deep in the heart of her. Something wild and wanton that came roaring to life and swept aside her every inhibition. Her hands were every bit as greedy as his, seeking and stroking and learning. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She wanted to wrap herself round him. Press every single inch of her against every marvellously thrilling inch of him.

Until, quite without warning, he reared back.

‘This is going too fast,’ he panted, frowning.

‘What do you mean?’ It all felt perfectly wonderful to her.

‘This is your first time,’ he gritted out between clenched teeth. ‘I should be taking it far more slowly. Making it good for you.’

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. After all the horrible things she’d read on that list, the dreadful afternoon she’d spent sitting alone, cold and brutally wounded, the least he could do was make this part of their marriage good.

He’d closed his eyes on a grimace. When he opened them again, only a few seconds later, he’d calmed down considerably.

‘I didn’t even pause to get our shoes off.’ He sighed, with a shake of his head.