They’d decided on a ceremony late in the day, to be followed by a banquet and ball. As the evening wore on, Jack sat at the high table and watched his wife enchant their acquaintances. There was, he reflected, nothing to complain of in Kit’s social graces. Ever since that evening when he’d found her in the gazebo, she’d behaved perfectly. Her demeanor had supported the fiction of their arranged marriage; even the most sharp-eyed observer could find no inconsistency in her manner. So successful had she been in projecting the image of a woman well pleased that Spencer now behaved as if the arrangement had always been in the wind. She was confident and serene; while her attitude held no overt maidenly modesty, neither did it suggest she was aware of her husband in any intimate way.
All of which, of course, was the most complete humbug. But only he knew that the elegant Lady Hendon stiffened slightly whenever he was near, clamping a stubborn hold over her normal responses to him. Only he was aware that she avoided meeting his eyes, using every feminine wile under the sun to accomplish that feat.
He wondered whether she knew what she was doing.
Since that night in the gazebo, he’d not so much as kissed her. She hadn’t given him a chance, and, wise enough to guess at her lack of enthusiasm for their union and the reasons behind it, he hadn’t gone out of his way to create one. Time enough, he’d reasoned, to reel her in once they were married.
Now they were married, and he was rapidly losing patience.
He hadn’t anticipated her degree of social confidence, either. He’d expected her to need help in taking up the role of Lady Hendon. Instead, the mantle had settled easily on her slim shoulders. He now understood why their story of an arranged marriage had been accepted so readily by their neighbors. Kit was the perfect candidate, one who, to all intents and purposes, could be said to have been bred for the position. Her six years in London were the icing on the cake. Aside from anything else, the fact she’d survived those years virgo intacta was the ultimate assurance she was not one of those women he mentally stigmatized as the gilded whores of the ton.
All in all, there was nothing in her manner or morals he wished to change. It was the distance she seemed intent on preserving between them that he could not abide.
Vignettes of memory, drawn from the hours they’d spent in the cottage, flashed through Jack’s mind. With a smothered curse, he stifled them. He took another sip of brandy and watched his wife go down the dance with some local squire. She must know he liked her as she was-would she try to pretend that all the wildness had gone out of her, that by marrying her he’d tamed her?
Jack’s lips twisted in a slow smile. If she thought that, she was in for a surprise. She might try to play the merely dutiful wife, but her fires ran deep. And he knew how to ignite them. Jack glanced at his watch. It was early, but not too early. And who was to gainsay him?
He raised his head and looked over the crowd to where Elmina sat by the door. She saw his nod and slipped away. Excusing himself to Amy, who was seated beside him in deep conversation with George, Jack rose and stepped from the dais.
Kit laughed at yet another weak joke elliptically alluding to her husband’s sexual prowess and expertly turned the conversation into safer channels. There’d been more than one moment that evening when she’d been sorely tempted to let loose the reins of her temper and give her teasing companions the facts. In truth, the facts were far more torrid than anything they imagined.
The music ceased, and she thanked Major Satterthwaite before moving off down the room. Within minutes, she was surrounded by a party of the district’s dames, the ladies Gresham, Marchmont, and Dersingham among them. Their talk was serious, revolving about the redecoration of Castle Hendon. Kit listened with half an ear, making the appropriate noises in the right places. She’d perfected the art of polite conversation during her stay in London. It was a prerequisite for retaining one’s sanity in the ballrooms of the ton. At least the ladies’ conversation was not peppered with allusions to the coming night’s activities. Every teasing comment simply added to her nervousness, which in turn increased her irritation with her own irrationality.
Why on earth should she feel nervous over what was to come? What could Jack possibly do to her-with her-that he hadn’t already done? Images of them, in various positions in the cottage, rose to torment her. Kit smiled and nodded at Lady Dersingham, and wondered whether her fever had truly addled her wits.
Then she saw him approaching through the crowd, stopping to chat here and there as people claimed his attention. But his silver-grey eyes were on her. Her breathing suspended. That familiar sensation of being stalked blossomed in Kit’s midriff. No, it wasn’t the fever that had addled her brain.
Kit wrenched her eyes from her approaching fate, fixing them on the mild features of Lady Gresham, and desperately tried to think of a reason why it was too early to leave for home. For Castle Hendon.
The instant Jack joined the group, she knew it was hopeless. All the ladies, grandes dames every one, positively melted at the first sound of his deep voice. She didn’t bother trying evasion. Instead, she raised her chin and nodded polite acquiescence to his suggestion that they leave. “Yes, of course. I’ll change my clothes.”
With that, she escaped upstairs, not bothering to haul Amy from George’s side.
In her bedroom, a surprise awaited her. Instead of the new carriage dress she’d ordered Elmina to lay out, her maid was smoothing the full skirts of a magnificent emerald velvet riding habit.
“Where did that come from?” Kit shut the door and went to the bed.
“Lord Hendon sent it for you, ma petite. He said you should wear it. Is it not enchanting?”
Kit examined the severe lines of the habit and could not disagree. Her mind raced, considering the implications. Her initial impulse was to refuse to wear clothes her husband had decreed she should wear. But impulse was tempered by caution. A habit meant horses. Kit slipped the heavy ivory wedding dress from her shoulders and Elmina eased it over her hips. Freed of her petticoats, Kit sat before her dressing table while Elmina pulled the pins from her headdress.
She hadn’t discussed how they were to travel to Castle Hendon, leaving Jack to deal with that as his prerogative. She’d imagined they’d go in the barouche. The riding habit said otherwise.
Suddenly enthusiastic, Kit hurried Elmina. A wild ride through the night was just what she needed to dispel her silly trepidation. The knots in her stomach would disappear once they were flying over the fields.
Pirouetting in front of her long mirror, Kit was pleased to approve of her husband’s taste. How had he known? A wry smile twisted her lips. Not only had Jack known she’d prefer to ride, he’d known she’d never refuse to wear the habit in such circumstances. As she’d once remarked, when it came to manipulation, he was a master.
When she appeared at the top of the stairs, it seemed that all of Norfolk had gathered in the front hall. Buoyed by the knowledge that she looked her best, Kit beamed upon them all. As she descended the stairs, an avenue opened from their foot, through the throng, to where Jack waited for her by the door. Even from that distance, Kit caught the glint in his eyes as they swept over her, appreciation glowing in their depths. Pride was etched in every line of his face.
She must have responded to the wishes of those lining her route for they seemed happy enough, but Kit was unaware of anything beyond Jack. He held out one hand as she approached and she slipped her fingers into his, dimly aware of the cheers that rose about them. Then Jack’s fingers tightened about hers and he drew her out onto the porch.