A Marriage Of Rogues. Margaret Moore

what to do or say to her husband, she quickly washed and dressed. She was relieved that, in spite of the intimacy they’d shared, he’d kept his gaze averted. It was different being alone with him in the brighter light of morning than it had been in the candlelit room last night.

      At breakfast, he’d been polite but still nearly silent.

      Perhaps he was simply tired, exhausted from the events of the day before and especially the night that followed. After all, she was weary, too. She’d lain awake most of the night wondering if she’d pleased him as much as he had pleased her and trying not to contemplate the other women with whom he’d been intimate.

      “We’re nearly at Dundrake Hall,” her companion abruptly announced, his tone matter-of-fact. “The next curve should see us at the gates.”

      Thea’s heartbeat quickened. What would his servants think of her? And his friends? Although she was educated and knew how to behave in polite society, she was a stranger and no beauty. She fervently hoped she could hold her own with the ton, or at least not be an embarrassment to her husband.

      Despite her self-assurances, her pulse increased again when the coach rounded the curve and she had her first glimpse of the imposing iron gates of Sir Develin Dundrake’s estate. They looked like they belonged to a prison.

      Perhaps one of the horses would throw a shoe or an axle break and delay their arrival. All she needed was a little more time to prepare herself.

      Unfortunately no disaster impeded their progress.

      When they reached the gate, the door to what had to be the gatekeeper’s lodge opened. An old man, gray-haired and bent-backed, hurried toward the gates from the wattle-and-daub cottage.

      “Ah, it’s Sir Develin back, eh?” he called out in a thin, reedy voice as he peered inside the barouche. “And not alone, neither. I wish you joy, Sir Develin.”

      “How the devil—?” her husband began, echoing her own surprise before a frown darkened his features.

      The cat was clearly out of the bag, the news arriving via a visiting relative, peddler or tradesman perhaps. However their marriage was discovered, curiosity and speculation were no doubt going to be the reaction that greeted her introduction as Lady Dundrake, and likely not just among the servants.

      She had had worse receptions. She suspected Develin had not, though, as his subsequent actions proved.

      He leaned out the window and rather forcefully asked, “Is there a difficulty, Simpkins?”

      “No, sir, no!” the gatekeeper replied, his gaze now fastened on Thea, who wished she had a better bonnet.

      “Then open the gates,” her husband snapped before he returned to his seat, where he frowned and crossed his arms.

      Since she was Lady Dundrake, it was time to begin to act like it, she told herself, so she gave the gatekeeper her best smile as they drove by.

      Her smile disappeared when she saw the house. The Georgian structure with its grim gray stone and several gleaming windows had seemed vast and imposing when she approached it from the garden. It seemed vaster and more impressive from the front, with a wide stone portico and stairs and ornamental plinths and cornices. Dundrake Hall must have cost a fortune and taken years to build.

      “My father did have a few good qualities,” her husband noted as the coach rolled along the gravel drive. “He had excellent taste and knew how to get what he wanted from a builder.”

      “The house was your father’s design?”

      “Yes, all of it, inside and out.”

      “Did not your mother...?” She fell silent when she saw the warning look that flashed across Develin’s face. Clearly his mother was a subject to be avoided, at least for now.

      So she stayed silent as the coach reached the house, where the servants were lined up like a firing squad in maids’ uniforms of dark dresses and white aprons and caps, or fine green livery for the footmen.

      She took a deep breath and managed to sound composed when she asked, “How many servants are there?”

      “Twenty-five or thirty, depending on the season. Mrs. Wessex can tell you how many are currently employed. She and Jackson, the butler, have been with the family since before I was born,” her husband replied.

      Mrs. Wessex must be the housekeeper, and it was no comfort to Thea to find out she had been at Dundrake Hall for so many years. Servants of such long standing might very well look askance at a wife who had apparently appeared out of nowhere. “I daresay they’re surprised that you’re returning with a bride.”

      He shrugged a shoulder. “They’re used to my impulsive decisions.”

      “That is not quite the same as bringing home a wife they know nothing about.”

      “I’m sure they’ll manage.” His brow furrowed. “You did say you knew how to run a household.”

      Although there were some things her husband should never know, it was probably better to be honest about this. “Yes. I’ve just never actually done it before.”

      * * *

      She’d never run a household?

      He really shouldn’t be surprised, Dev supposed. After all, there was much he didn’t know about her and little that he did. And of course, if her family had their income drastically reduced in recent years, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn the intricacies of running a manor.

      Yet she seemed so supremely competent, he still found her admission unexpected.

      He also began to wonder what else the woman who was now fully, completely his wife had been less than forthcoming about. What other things might he learn that would make him even sorrier he’d agreed to her proposal and made love with her last night?

      He should have ignored her shining, longing eyes, the temptation of her body, the sultry sound of her husky voice and stayed away. He should have used his head.

      One of the liveried footmen stepped forward to open the door. Dev disembarked and took a better survey of the gathered servants. No doubt they all wanted to see the new Lady Dundrake, who was still wearing that horrible pelisse and bonnet. Gad, even the scullery maid was there.

      He shouldn’t have been in such haste to leave Gretna Green. He should have insisted she get new clothes made before they returned—another mistake it was too late to correct. All he could do now was pretend not to notice.

      He slid a glance at Thea and caught her furtively straightening her bonnet and adjusting the collar of her pelisse. Perhaps she wasn’t as completely impervious to the call of vanity as she had seemed and seeing the servants arranged like soldiers on parade might be intimidating even to a woman not easily intimidated.

      A memory suddenly arose, strong and vivid, of the day he’d been waiting outside the vicarage while his father criticized the rector’s last sermon. Some of the boys from the village had been taking turns jumping over a mud puddle. When he’d wandered closer, the oldest studied him a moment, then shrugged and let him join the game.

      He’d slipped and fallen headlong into the puddle. When his father had seen him, dripping and muddy, the knee of his trousers torn, he flew flown into a temper, charging him with acting like a little ruffian and looking like one, too. He’d made Dev wear those torn, muddy clothes for a week.

      He had thought he’d never forget that humiliation, but he had, until today.

      He opened his mouth to say something encouraging. Before he could, though, Thea’s expression altered. It was like seeing her transform from vulnerable young bride to impervious Amazon.

      Obviously his wife didn’t need any reassurance from him, he thought as he got out of the barouche and reached up to help her from the carriage.

      Thea disembarked with the poise and expression of a visiting empress, and as if she were attired in the finest Paris fashion.