Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

‘Arabella, are you suggesting that I do not come to your bed until after this baby is born and that if it is a boy that I never do?’ Elliott demanded.

‘Well, yes. I mean, you do not want to marry me because you love me, or anything like that, so…’

Elliott twisted on the seat to face her, but she turned away abruptly and stared out of the window, presenting him with the rim of her new bonnet and what she knew was a pink-flushed cheek. How did I ever get into this conversation? I am ready to sink…

She heard him draw breath in through his gritted teeth. ‘Arabella, we are getting married. I am prepared to do my duty by Rafe’s child and by you, but I am not prepared to become a monk in the process!’

His voice deepened to a growl and she turned back, even more flustered by this sign of the temper she had suspected lurked beneath that calm and controlled exterior. ‘Oh! But I thought—but I do not know you!’ And, surely he did not desire her? Elliott showed no sign of finishing her sentences now. He sat and watched her flounder, his expression unyielding.

Eventually he said, ‘How long did you know Rafe?’

‘Eight days,’ she confessed.

‘You were constantly in his company? You became intimate in every way, understood him, mind and soul?’

‘Why, no. We could only meet in a clandestine way, snatch an hour here and there. How many couples know each other mind and soul before they marry? I loved him. I mean, I thought I loved him. I did not know him at all, of course,’ she added with wrenching honesty.

‘You fell in love with a man you had known for a handful of days, if you add up those snatched hours,’ Elliott said remorselessly. ‘Rafe was complex and complicated, just like any other human being. You could not possibly have thought you knew him any better than you know me.’

‘But I do not love you!’ she threw at him.

‘True.’ Elliott nodded. ‘What was it that so destroyed your judgement, your instinct for danger? Were you were dazzled, desperate, beguiled or seduced?’

‘No! Yes, I mean I was all of those things. But haven’t you a mistress?’ Bella asked rather desperately. She had to know, she realised.

‘No, not just at the moment.’

‘But you could get one,’ she suggested. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’ Please take one. Then I will not have the humiliation of my ignorance, my clumsiness. My fear.

It was obviously entirely the wrong thing to say. Elliott looked thunderous. ‘Then you should mind,’ he growled. ‘Why should I in any case, when I will have a wife? As it happens, I believe in marital fidelity.’

‘Then you would want to come to my room.’ Best to be quite clear. ‘Next year, I mean, after the baby is born?’

‘I was rather expecting to do so tomorrow night,’ Elliott said. His voice was dry, but she could hear his temper tightly reined beneath it.

‘Tomorrow night?’ Her insides seemed to have become entirely hollow.

‘It is usual on a wedding night to consummate the union.’

‘But you do not love me,’ she protested. How naïve, this is not some green boy, this is an experienced man who expects to gratify his physical desires. He thinks I have been Rafe’s mistress so I will know what to do. And what if he is just as angry as Rafe was when he realises how inept I am? And Elliott did not think her pretty. How could he, looking as ill and drawn as she was? So this was duty, as he saw it. No mistress, faithfulness to his inconvenient, unsuitable wife. A nightmare and twenty-four hours to anticipate it in.

‘Love is not a necessity, you know,’ Elliott said, confirming her thoughts. ‘You are not repelled by me?’

She shook her head. No, of course she was not repelled by him. Part of her looked at him and ached with a very shocking and basic desire to touch him. To be touched by him. He was big and strong and very masculine and she needed to be held and comforted. But that was nothing to do with what a man and woman did in bed. Marital intimacy was quite another thing.

‘Or frightened of me?’ Another shake, a little slower that time. Bella kept her eyes fixed on the reticule she was holding in a death grip. She was terrified, but how could she tell him? The humiliation would be even worse than keeping silent. ‘We will consummate this marriage.’

‘Must we?’ It came out as a whisper.

‘Yes. There is no way I am going to contemplate a sham marriage. This is for the rest of our lives. I am doing my duty, Arabella—I am asking you to do yours.’

He was quite right, of course he was. She understood duty and she understood obligation and she must pay the price. This man was saving her from poverty and shame and her innocent child from all the stigma of its conception. ‘Yes, you are right, of course. You will require an heir if this is not a boy and you are entitled to a proper marriage whatever happens.’ Could she counterfeit whatever was necessary for him to be satisfied with her?

‘I would not force you. Physically, I mean. I would never do that. But I will come to you tomorrow night and we will see what happens.’

‘I will not refuse you,’ she murmured, her fingers still crushing the worn reticule.

‘And you must always tell me if you are indisposed, naturally.’ How calm and unembarrassed he sounded, as though they were discussing whether she could hold a dinner party or accompany him to the races.