Chapter 1
St. George's Church was packed with wedding guests, decorated with pink roses and white lilies, while the Rector, Viscount Petersham, Lord Hyde and the Earl of Spencer waited patiently at the altar. Only the occasional shifting of Viscount Petersham’s weight indicated his nervousness on his wedding day. The various ladies of the ton in attendance fanned themselves, whispering to each other as best they could without being overheard by their men.
The matrons with unmarried daughters were disgruntled, although they'd known for months about the arrangement between the Earl of Harrington and Baron Standish for their children. The missish daughters sighed over the loss of two of the tons most eligible, and handsome, bachelors, as Lord Hyde had recently been married to Viscount Petersham’s sister. They were eyeing Wesley, the Earl of Spencer, with acquisitive determination. The more brazen widows and unhappily married young women eyed Hugh and Edwin with speculation, wondering if they would remain faithful to their brides and for how long. London was already abuzz with the gossip that Lord Hyde seemed to be nauseatingly devoted to his bride; word of their behavior in Paris during their honeymoon had followed them home, and the ladies in London were finding no better luck in their flirtations than the ladies of Paris had. Then again, considering the close relationship between Lord Hyde and his wife's brother, perhaps he found it wise to cleave unto his wife and no other.
Reformed rakes made the best husbands of course, but how did anyone know if he was truly reformed? Most of the women, remembering the rumors of the passionate prowess when the men were bachelors, thought it wouldn’t hurt to try their chances with any of the young lords standing at the altar.
The gentlemen in the crowd ignored the feminine titters and whispered remarks, their minds on their various wagers and businesses, and a few with an eye towards comforting those disappointed ladies of the ton who were sighing over the loss of Harrington's son and Lord Hyde. Not that either Hugh or Edwin had been particularly indiscreet or even overly generous with their affections, but those ladies whose beds they had graced had been well satisfied and their reputations were such that there had been plenty more who would have enjoyed their attentions.
Standing next to each other, outfitted in their finest clothing, it was no wonder they set the ladies' hearts racing. Hugh was the golden boy, his blonde hair glinting in the sunlight coming in through the windows, looking like every woman's idea of the perfect storybook hero. More than one lady whose bed he had graced had called him an “Adonis,” further enhancing his reputation. Standing next to him, and looking like a dark angel compared to Hugh's lighter features, was Edwin, Lord Hyde. They were the extremes; it would have been easy for any man but Wesley to fade into the background next to such elegant gentleman.
Wesley was pure rogue, his roving hazel eyes filled with amusement and invitation, the waving, sun-streaked mahogany brown hair tied back into a queue. His tanned face and hands stood out starkly against the crisp linen of his shirt and cravat, making him look all the more dangerous. As a recent returnee to London, from exotic India, and newly come into his title of Earl, he was in obvious need of a wife and an heir. Obvious, that is, to the calculating matrons and their daughters, although gossip said there was no sign of him courting any respectable woman since his return. Surely with the example of his two closest friends he couldn’t be far from the matrimonial way, the ladies reasoned.
Lady Hyde sat next to her father and mother in the front pew, the Earl of Harrington and his wife. Strange to think that one day Hugh would be the Earl and, as Edwin’s wife, she would be a Marchesse. Unwillingly, her bright blue eyes flitted to the forbiddingly attractive figure of her husband standing next to her brother. Her heart fluttered every time she looked at him and she hated it.
When they'd returned from their honeymoon, she'd had the awful revelation that she'd fallen in love with her husband. Awful, because she had never intended to fall in love and, worse, she had no sign that he returned any such strong emotions. Oh he cared for her, to be sure... but he always had, in the way that a young man might care for a friend's little sister. She had no idea if his feelings had changed or grown from the affection he’d always held her in. He did desire her, of that she was certain.
Although now that they were back from their honeymoon, the hinting questions of the other ladies of the ton had her wondering if that desire would continue once she provided him with an heir or if it might wane even before that. It seemed to her that far too many of the ladies were interested in her 'health' because they wanted to know when Edwin might give up his place in her bed and occupy another's. Far too many gentlemen of the ton were only faithful for as long as it took to beget the heir, if even that long, since many began to stray the moment they managed to get their wife with child.
Would Edwin be one of those? Would she even know if he was? Considering his close friendship with her brother she was sure that he would be discreet, but her heart ached at even the idea. She was torn between wanting to have his child and the fear that the passion between them would end the moment her monthly courses did.
Sometimes he looked at her in such a way that she felt surely he must reciprocate her feelings. Yet how could she know for certain? He certainly never said so and she didn’t have the experience to know if he treated her like a man in love would, or just a man who was fond of his bride. This was exactly why she’d never wanted to fall in love.
Once they'd returned home she'd resolved to discover what his feelings towards her might be, but every attempt had confused her further. She'd realized almost immediately that she had absolutely no way to judge whether or not a man was in love with her. There were not many love matches among the ton for her to observe or compare her own marriage with and the one shining example that she had of love within a marriage were her mother's feelings for her father. But even in her wildest imaginings she couldn't picture Edwin acting like her mother; she'd never fooled herself into thinking that he was the kind of man who would shower her with affection, presents and sonnets. Well, presents perhaps, he did like to give her things, but all men gave jewelry and flowers. In fact, many men gave them in lieu of apologies. Affection... if that went hand in hand with passion then he gave her that as well, but men were wont to show passion in the bedchamber, especially with a new wife. And Eleanor knew that she was attractive.
At first she'd tried to be more affectionate than usual with him to see how he would respond, thinking that perhaps a show of her own would spur him into admitting to some finer feelings. Instead he'd seemed pleased by her affections and responded by taking her to bed immediately.
Which seemed rather inconclusive since she wanted to know his emotions and not his passions.
That had led to her pouting and doing her best to give him the cold shoulder, wondering how he would react and thinking that his response might give her further insight.
That had gotten her a spanking - and not a pleasant one, like on their honeymoon - although not nearly as harsh as any of the ones she'd received before the honeymoon either. It had been more of a reprimand than a punishment for being disrespectful to him. Apparently Edwin did not like to be ignored when he asked her a question.
Would a man spank the woman he lov
ed?
It was humiliating and painful, and yet it aroused Edwin like nothing else. So if passion was an indication of feeling then perhaps. But Eleanor wasn’t convinced that it was. Of course, she couldn’t imagine being intimate with anyone other than Edwin, but that was because she was in love. Edwin, of course, had already been intimate with other women before their marriage – many women, she thought darkly. But he’d never been in love that she knew of.
Not that she had any experience with love herself, but she couldn’t think of any other explanation for the warmth that fluttered through her whenever she saw him, the constant desire to be in his company, the piercing pain that lanced through her at the thought of him with another woman or the fact that she constantly felt herself wanting to bow to his wishes and give him whatever she desired.
She fought the latter. Not just from pride but from self-preservation.