The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Sir Francis Barrett, from Coddington, in Yorkshire.”

“He sounds up to the mark. We’ll see. Have you come up with anything else to torture yourself or me with?”

“I don’t suppose that you will tell your mama all of the truth?”

“I already did. Mother is a force to be reckoned with. She woke me up before six o’clock this morning and squeezed me dry before six-thirty.” Rohan just realized what a marvelous weapon she’d just handed him, the final nail. He looked for a moment at his fingernails. Then he smiled at her. “Mother believes we should marry as soon as possible, in fact, immediately. She is naturally upset about what George did, but she wants you and Marianne to be protected and she agrees that marriage with me is the only thing to do.” He paused, for just the exact small moment, then added, “You know, Susannah, my mother has an incredible sense not only of what is proper but also of when it is just the right time to execute the needful in order to gain the proper.”

She sighed deeply.

“Our marriage is the needful.”

She sighed again, even more deeply.

He had her.

17

THE VERY SMALL WEDDING WAS PERFORMED BY MR. Byam, a vicar with a beautiful head of white hair and a deep resonant voice, who held his living from the Carrington family. He was the soul of discretion, had never been a hell-thumper, and ignored the array of gossip that came his way. He quite liked the present Baron Mountvale, despite his reputation. His drawing room was small, but finely appointed, thanks to Charlotte Carrington. He understood the need for secrecy, even with respect to the Carrington servants. Thus the wedding was held in the evening, a Sunday evening, when every family thereabouts was snug at home, secure in the knowledge that they had already performed their religious duties sufficiently.

Mr. Byam gave Toby a pat on his shoulder, whispering as he passed him, “Your sister is lovely. This is a wonderful day for the Carringtons. Just imagine, our baron is getting himself married.”

“Yes, indeed I am,” said Rohan. “Do you approve, sir?”

“Yes, I do, my lord. I had feared you would wed yourself at Hanover Square and I wouldn’t have the opportunity of seeing it, but now, this is beyond what I could have envisioned. None will ever learn of this. I do believe, my boy, that your dear father, once he got over his shock, would have applauded you. You are a good and generous man. Now, my lord, let us get you married before your bride bolts.”

She did look ready to hike up her skirts and run. Rohan moved quickly to stand beside her, taking her hand in a firm grip. It was a cold and damp hand.

Susannah, thanks to his mother, was gowned in a pale yellow silk with an even paler yellow lace lining the bodice and the banding beneath her breasts. It fell straight to the floor, with another narrow band of lace at the hem. The sleeves were long, and sewn with lace. Pale yellow ribbon was threaded through the fat braids atop her head. She looked exquisite.

Rohan swallowed. She was also very pale.

He smiled down at her, saw the strain, the wariness, and now found himself praying that she would go through with it. It was her second marriage to a Carrington. At least this one was real. His mother had sensed that Susannah was still more than uncertain about the union and had kept her so busy she hadn’t had time to draw breath, much less fidget and question herself more about what she had committed to.

It seemed to Rohan that the only thing Mr. Byam said was to ask Susannah if she would accept Baron Mountvale as her husband. In this Mr. Byam was a very shrewd man. A long service just might have left the bride in a dead faint or running from the vicarage. By placing the exchange of vows at the start of the service, Byam effectively forestalled either development. Nevertheless, both he and Rohan sighed with immense relief as Susannah responded with no hesitation at all: “I do.” Then they heard her swallow hard.

It was done in five minutes, if that. Mr. Byam beamed at them, saying, “This has given me great pleasure, my lord, my lady. Dear Lady Charlotte has provided us some champagne. But first, my lord, you may kiss your lovely bride.”

She was married, Susannah thought, staring down at the emerald and diamond ring, a very old ring that had been in the Carrington family since the seventeenth century, Rohan had told her. Married the second time, only this time the ceremony was real and her husband—her true husband—was very kind, she knew that was true. But he also had a reputation as one of the most lascivious men in England. Lovemaking twice a day! It was an unimaginable thought. Surely he wouldn’t expect that of her—no, certainly not. She was his wife, not his mistress. Men didn’t do that to their wives once they got them pregnant. George hadn’t forced himself on her after Marianne had been conceived. Indeed, he hadn’t forced himself upon her after Marianne had been born. Susannah hoped that mistresses made a great deal of money. Perhaps they even charged by the time. She knew that was what prostitutes did, so why not mistresses? Or perhaps a mistress negotiated at the beginning, taking into consideration the number of times per day or per week a man would want to do those things to her. Yes, that sounded the more reasonable.

“Whatever are you thinking? Your eyes are dilated. Your breathing has quickened. You looked ready to fly out of here, if you only had a broom.”

“You truly don’t want to know.”

“Later, yes I do, but I want more to kiss you at this moment.” Just as Rohan prepared to kiss her, Susannah drew back and said, “You said anyone who was at all suspicious could find out very quickly that my marriage to George was a fraud. Anyone who is suspicious also need only ask Mr. Byam to find out how recently we’ve wed. I hadn’t thought of this before. Goodness, it won’t work, Rohan, it—”

“It’s done,” he said and kissed her. He said quietly against her mouth, “Mr. Byam assures me that he could have his fingernails drawn out and he wouldn’t say a word. You’re mine now, Susannah. It’s legal. And our secret is safe.”

His. Her eyes closed as he kissed her. A soft kiss, not at all demanding, just a strange sort of recognition. She didn’t try to draw away. She knew it would embarrass both of them if she did. She stood very still, letting him kiss her, feeling his hands resting lightly on her arms.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Indeed, she felt something rather stimulating begin to warm her belly. It was an odd sort of stimulation, gone immediately when he raised his mouth from hers.

He smiled down at her and tweaked her nose with his finger. “You did well. Your ‘I do’ was a bit on the terrified side, but you did get it out quickly. I didn’t have time to chew my fingernails. I’m proud of you. Now, Lady Mountvale, would you like some champagne?”

She nodded. Lady Mountvale. Now it was real. She saw Mr. Byam smiling at something Charlotte was saying. She saw Toby playing with Mr. Byam’s old lame terrier, Bushy. She slowly backed away from him. From her husband.

Not even two weeks before, she had been weeding her garden, her hands as black as the sweet earth she’d been digging, worrying about money, worrying about her candytuft, worrying about her father, always worrying about something, it seemed, but still, she had been her own mistress, she had been in charge of her own life. She had been the one responsible for both Toby and Marianne. Truth be told, she’d also been responsible for her father. And she had slept alone.

But now she was a ladyship with no more money worries at all. All she’d had to do was vow herself over to a man she scarcely knew. He now owned her and all the responsibilities as well. It seemed to her that Rohan had gotten the worst end of this bargain, yet he was smiling. He seemed quite pleased about the whole thing. Why? Not only had she brought him endless responsibilities, she’d also brought him danger. Was he mad to look so pleased with himself?