Just what was required to produce an heir she did not dwell upon.
And so the journey was spent in silence, a silence as heavy and cold as winter itself.
They arrived at Montwyn Hall just at dusk. It was impressive. Most impressive.
Manicured woods, bare now, limbs reaching toward the growing darkness, lined the gravel drive, which swept in a graceful arc to the front of the hall. The hall itself consisted of a massive central building surrounded by four pavilions linked by quadrant colonnades, all perfectly symmetrical, perfectly grand.
Jane looked suitably impressed. Clarissa could not have been more pleased.
"So you're happy with your bargain?" Beau asked as the coach stopped in front of the portico. It was the first sentence he'd spoken to her all day.
He sounded insulted, yet why should he be? Why should he not be flattered and pleased that the legacy she had married into was grand? She was expected to marry well. Should she be derided because she had? Obviously not. Her only recourse was to ignore him, since he was being so contrary.
But he was very difficult to ignore.
He knew that well enough.
Beau was perfectly aware that Clarissa was doing all in her power to ignore him, as if he were an unnecessary accessory to "her" Irish lands. She had been clear in her purpose from the start and equally vocal. What cause had he to complain now?
What cause? Because he had believed her to have some kindred feeling for him. Because he had wanted her with the first look. Because her odd honesty had beguiled him as surely as her beauty.
Beguiled but not blinded. He was no fool; he would not have pursued her if he had not felt some shimmer of attraction in her. She wanted him, and for more than his title and lands. She had to want him. No woman could be so cold and… practical. It was only left for him to prove it to her. He was not a pair of gloves purchased for her convenience. He was her husband. If she did not understand the difference, she soon would.
The house was entered through the marble hall, and he could hear her intake of breath; it was breathtaking. Corinthian columns of pink Nottinghamshire alabaster made up the colonnade. The ceiling was frescoed and lit by circular skylights. The floor was buff marble inlaid with curls and circles of white marble. It was most impressive entry.
"A most beautiful hall, Lord Montwyn," Jane offered.
Beau nodded at the compliment, graciously accepting it from her.
"Shall we have a tour?" Clarissa said, her priorities clear, as always.
"Not tonight," Beau answered. "Moresby has prepared a light supper for us. We shall dine and then retire for the evening. It has been a long and tiring day; I am certain a good night's rest must head our list of priorities."
Clarissa swallowed her argument and smiled her acquiescence. Most reasonable of her, especially as he had not given her any choice but compliance. Moresby, the head butler, was introduced to them, and he led the way to the dining room, where they ate sparingly. It had been a long day, and Jane, if not Clarissa, was most fatigued.
"I do think I could look at the ground floor," Clarissa said as the plates were being cleared. "What was beyond the marble hall?"
"The salon," Beau answered, rising from his chair, "and you shall see it tomorrow. Good night, Lady Jane," he said. "Moresby will conduct you to your chamber. Have a most restful night."
Jane left without a murmur of protest or even any hesitancy of step.
"That was most rude of you," Clarissa said as they proceeded up the stairs. "Jane would have enjoyed a tour of Montwyn Hall very much. You gave not a thought to her pleasure."
"I do believe that Jane is more attuned to my pleasure than my own wife," he said. "Should we not hasten to the bedchamber and conclude our transaction?"
"I believe I quote your sentiments when I remark that you are delving into the vulgar in your attempts at truth telling," she said.
"Perhaps the fault, if there is one, is that I lack your practice at speaking a civil truth. Perhaps I can phrase it better." He pondered, leading her on down a wide hallway ornately littered with oil paintings and mahogany chairs. "Ah, let's try this." He smiled. "I want to sample the goods I have paid for. Better?"
"I should have paid more attention to your outburst in the garden. You are intemperate," she said stiffly. Her stomach dropped into the cradle of her hips to wiggle there in a most distracting manner.
Beau merely smiled and opened the door for her. The chamber beyond was sumptuous, large, and well lit by fire and candle. The room was done in green, buff, and gold, the furniture Chippendale, the hangings silk. The bedcover had been turned down. All was ready for his "sampling."
"Perhaps," he said, closing the door behind them. "I would have said eager, but the best word may be curious."
"Curious?"
"To see if your boldness was a ploy. I often wondered if you were as bold as you seemed. It appears I am soon to have my answer."
"I understand the transactions of the marketplace as well as you," she said coldly. "Let a servant attend me. I will present myself to you shortly, and then the bargain we have struck will be well and truly sealed."
"No servants," he said. "Just us. And this bargain, this union, is already sealed, Clarissa. All has been signed, our words have been spoken, our families have borne witness; we are wed, and not intemperately. We knew what we were about, did we not? Did you not know that when you shopped for an Irish estate, a husband came with it? Surely a great bargain for such an astute shopper as you."
She stood speechless as he began to disrobe. He moved quickly. He showed no embarrassment at the revelation of his skin. She dared show none, though it was not embarrassment she felt but fear. Now came the moment when the bill must be paid. An heir must be conceived. She would have to couple with this man, this husband of hers, until her duty had been accomplished.
If he had looked powerful in cravat and coat, he was a hundred times more so bared to the waist. Muscle gleamed in the firelight, rippling with each movement of his body, proclaiming his raw masculinity loudly to her eyes. Her heart jumped into her throat to almost suffocate her. He stared at her; his eyes were intense and discerning, reading in her what she most wanted to hide.
She wanted him.
Yet wanting to touch and be touched by the man before her could have no part in a rational mind; it was all blind desire and need. Such a response shamed her. She wanted him and… she thought she might love him.
She could not love him. She could not want him. She could not need him. Because she would leave him when she went home to Ireland. She would leave and he would stay; his duty would require it. Her heart would call her to Ireland; she would not leave it again.
"Come, Clarissa," he said, clad only in his tight buckskin breeches. "I will not hurt you and I will not provoke you further."
Not provoke? He truly had no skill at speaking honestly. He was broad and hard, his muscles sculpted by flawless skin. His chest was lightly furred with black hair, and his eyes shone green as spring growth.
"Thank you," she said, turning her back on him. "Is there no one to assist me? No screen-"
"I will assist you, if you have need, and there is no need for a screen. Delay is not to your advantage, my dear. With a bold stroke, the matter is behind us."
"I wish you had used a different expression," she said with an uncomfortable laugh.
"I apologize," he said, grinning. "Do not rebuke me for my lack of skill in truthful communication; I will learn.