Two Wrongs Make a Marriage. Christine Merrill

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Miss Cynthia Banester was a beautiful bride. Of course, she was Lady Kenton now. She had Jack to thank for that. And she did seem inordinately pleased. Since they’d been seated, she’d made sure that his plate and cup were never empty as though seeking any way possible to show her devotion. ‘Champagne, darling?’ She smiled up at him.

      ‘Thank you, love.’ He smiled back as she saw to the filling of his glass. Jack felt a not entirely appropriate swelling of pride at how well things had turned out. The ceremony had felt real enough, with a licence and a vicar, and the good wishes of her family heaped upon them.

      But she was his wife for only as long as he played at being Lord Kenton. Then he would go on his merry way and they would both be the better for his departure. He would have the money. She would be safe in the keeping of the earl, who was a fine old gentleman, for all his quirks. And she would be spared a lifetime of him as a husband. Jack doubted that she would continue to smile after she learned of his true character. Other women had assured him that he was fickle, shallow and faithless. He doubted that money, a false title and an equally false marriage would change that.

      But that was a future he need never face. Today, his darling Cyn was frowning into her glass. She gave the smallest of pouts and he felt a sudden urge to kiss it away. He had to force himself to remember that he was as likely to grow tired of her as she would of him. The feelings of infatuation seemed real enough at the moment, but there was no way that they could outlast the honeymoon. He must be sure to be gone before they faded. Better that she should have bittersweet memories of the dashing Lord Kenton, the adoring husband who was taken too soon, than any introduction at all to plain old Jack Briggs.

      Today, he was still Kenton and eager to show his mutual admiration. ‘Is something the matter, my sweet?’

      ‘I had hoped that we would see your father for the wedding. I quite looked forward to meeting him.’

      It was a predictable expectation on her part and Jack answered it smoothly. ‘He was detained in Essex. Business with the estate, I think. Travel is difficult for him. But I have written to him about you. He is very pleased with the union and eager to meet you. He sent the ring you are wearing now.’ He paused dramatically to make the next words sound more like sentiment than a quickly constructed lie. ‘It belonged to my mother. It was a great favourite of hers. I remember it well, though I was so very young, when she …’ He sighed.

      She looked around for something with which to distract him from his grief. ‘Toast, Lord Kenton?’

      He grinned at her and accepted the proffered bread. ‘Thank you, Lady Kenton. And no need to be formal, now that we are practically as one. Kenton is fine. Or you might call me by my Christian name.’

      ‘John?’ she said hesitantly, as though trying the word for the first time.

      He gave a silent thank you to the late John de Warde for being so conveniently named. ‘Or you might call me Jack. It is what my friends call me. And I very much wish to be your friend.’ He glanced down the table. ‘I wish to be friends with your family as well. I must talk to your father before the day is through. He has spoken of a settlement, but we could not manage to find time to discuss it until now.’

      ‘Tongue?’

      Hells, yes. She was leaning forwards, over the tray of cold meats, in rapt concentration as though it took any great thought to choose the best piece for him. The tip of her own pink tongue protruded ever so slightly from between her teeth, and the set of her body gave him a tantalising glimpse down the front of her gown.

      His body shot to attention as his mind instantly focused on the wedding night, which, as far as he was concerned, could begin any time after noon. Was it normal to be so utterly fixated on bedding one’s own wife? There was probably some quote in Shakespeare’s canon about delayed pleasure being sweeter, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of it.

      Because his wits were addled by lust. It had been three long and very respectable weeks since he’d offered for her. In that time he had done nothing to shock or annoy. He had played the part of a perfect gentleman and played it to the very hilt. Now, if they could just get this interminable breakfast behind them, he would get Cynthia Banester alone and fall on her like a condemned man at his last meal.

      At least Jack Briggs would have done so. Lord Kenton would be a connoisseur. And if ever there was a dish to be savoured, it was the new Lady Kenton. There would be plenty of time later for risky and hurried couplings, after he had initiated her into any of the conventional arts that she was not yet familiar with. If the lady proved willing and true to her initial response, they might have no end of fun together before it was time to part from her. Several months as a doting husband to this redheaded pocket Venus was almost, but not quite, an ample payment for his services to the earl.

      She stood beside him now, looking up through gold-tipped lashes, a shy smile on her face. ‘My dear,’ he said, surprising himself with a sincere sigh.

      ‘Jack.’ She leaned forwards again, giving him an even better look down the front of her bodice.

      He leaned closer to speak into her ear. ‘Have I thanked you yet for bringing me to this pass? I had not thought to offer for you, but now I cannot imagine my future with another.’

      ‘I am relieved to hear you say that,’ she said, sighing as well. He could not help but admire what a deep breath did to his wife’s anatomy.

      She reached out a finger and traced it lightly down the back of his hand. ‘Many men would not have been so forgiving of my impudence. I very nearly tricked you into this marriage.’