Deborah Simmons - The Last Rogue

Idly, Raleigh wondered if he ought to broach the subject with Jane, but how could he do so politely? And even if he managed to suggest such a course without offending her, was she, at eighteen, the proper judge of what was best for her own future? She seemed woefully ignorant of society or its demands.

In the next instant, she proved him correct by frowning at him. “I found your parents excessively arrogant,” she said, lifting her chin as though daring him to gainsay her.

Instead, Raleigh laughed at her accurate assessment. For all her faults, at least Jane did not mince words. “Yes, they are excessively arrogant. And rigid and narrow-minded,” he added. His eyes widening in surprise, Raleigh leaned back to stare at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Lud, have I married my mother?” he teased.

Thoroughly enjoying her reaction to his words, Raleigh saw shock cross her features only to be swiftly replaced by an expression of distaste and then effrontery. “I could hardly be said to possess the same prejudices as the countess!” she protested, a flush staining her cheeks.

Gad, she looked almost human with that rosy glow and her eyes—what color were they?—flashing fire behind the ever-present glasses. Raleigh watched her with interest. “Don’t you think so?” he asked gently.

He knew the moment that she understood his barb, for fresh heat washed over her clear skin and her lips parted for a reply before pursing abruptly into a tight line. “I refuse to argue with you,” she said in a pious tone that would have done his mother proud.

Raleigh shook his head. At last he had found something entertaining about the chit, and she would deprive him of it. Demned perverse of her. With an indolent shrug, he set himself to the task of finishing his supper, and the minutes passed in silence while she fiddled with her spoon. She had eaten no more than would sustain a bird, yet refused every dish he offered until he wondered what bedeviled her.

“My lord,” she finally said, and Raleigh was so surprised by the address that he nearly spilled his wine.

Lud, did the chit think she had to spout such formality even when they were married? The very idea made him uncomfortable, for he had always been casual about his title—too casual, according to his parents. “Raleigh, please, or…uh, Deverell,” he muttered.

Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Since no one called him Deverell except for his relatives, he had come to view the name with less than equanimity. Shuddering, he waited for her to continue, but she seemed to be particularly engrossed in a tray of sweetmeats. “Have one,” he said, leaning forward to reach for a fat tart, dusted with sugar.

“Oh, no, really I could not,” she replied, turning her face away as if he were a snake that had crawled into her garden brandishing an apple. Raleigh shook his head in bemusement. Hardly any food, no wine and no dessert What possible enjoyment did the girl get from life? Adhering to no such strictures himself, Raleigh broke the pastry in half and popped a portion into his mouth.

“Mmm.” He made a deliberate show of enjoying the treat, going so far as to lick his lips as he relaxed in his chair. But what began as a harmless tease turned into something else entirely when he saw her gaze follow the movements of his tongue and linger there. An odd ripple of excitement ran through him and he paused, lifting his eyes to hers in surprise. But then she turned her face away again in apparent disgust, and Raleigh wondered if he had imagined the entire episode. Swallowing hard, he began on the other half, chewing noisily.

“Really!” Jane said sharply, and this time he received a withering look that gave him the kind of heady triumph he had felt when, as a boy, he had tormented his great-aunt Hephzibah with small fauna and poor table manners. He grinned.

“My lord…Raleigh. The inheritance. It disturbs you,” she said, and the last bit of tart went down crookedly to lodge in Raleigh’s belly like a rock. Devil take the chit, now she had really managed to ruin his evening! He had been feeling better—well-fed and at ease, his interview with his parents behind him—when what should she do but remind him of his straitened circumstances?

With a sigh, Raleigh rose from his seat, and taking his wineglass with him, moved to sprawl on the more comfortable Grecian squab couch. Reclining casually against the cushions and tilting his head back, he decided it was time for The Truth. “I fear, dear wife, that you haven’t married well,” he intoned in a fair impression of the earl.

“What are you talking about?” she asked in brittle accents. Closing his eyes, Raleigh did not respond immediately, but tried to imagine her speaking more gently. Memory argued that she must have been kind to her younger siblings, yet that clipped tone was all he ever heard. Indeed, Jane appeared to possess only two emotions: disgust and irritation. It was impossible to envision her thrilled or enraptured or ecstatic. A low bubble of laughter escaped his throat at the very thought, but rather than suffer a scolding for it, he endeavored to turn his mind back to the more serious subject at hand.

“I mean that until the earl pops off I am quite without funds,” he explained patiently. “Unfortunately for those expectations, the males in our family are extremely longlived—so don’t count on being a widow soon—and as much as I dislike the old sod, I wouldn’t wish him dead.”

Raleigh opened one eye and saw that she was shocked, whether by his words or by their financial status, he wasn’t sure. Then she drew herself up even straighter. “I have no need for wealth. I have always lived simply,” she said in that prim way that managed to annoy him. With his present inclination toward self-pity, Raleigh took her lofty avowal as a slur upon his own free-spending habits.

“Unfortunately, we all cannot be such paragons as yourself,” he said, immediately regretting his rudeness. Opening both eyes, Raleigh lifted his head only to marvel at the picture she made, seated straight in the shield-back chair, stiff and unyielding. She had not even removed that wretched hat, and he resisted the urge to pull it from her head like a naughty boy. If she had been any other woman, he might have, releasing that poor hair of hers. Perhaps if it were loosened her face would relax. Her whole body might relax.

Impossible! No doubt she slept sitting up, ramrod straight and eyes open. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth only to fade at the memory of her as nothing but a rounded lump beside him under the covers. Raleigh drew in a breath as his thoughts crept insidiously from the berth they had shared unknowingly to this evening’s sleeping arrangements. Like it or not, this strange, dull creature was his wife, and this was his wedding night. Raleigh took a long drink.

He liked women. And unlike some men, he never had developed a preference for a certain type, enjoying the female form in all its guises and infinite variety. Indeed, Raleigh had only one requirement for the ladies he took to his bed: that they have a sense of humor. Unfortunately, Jane’s apparently had deserted her at birth, along with any kind of warmth that might make up for the lack.

Peering at her surreptitiously, Raleigh decided that Jane was not really unattractive, but her disposition was so utterly foreign to him that he was not certain he could be counted upon to rise to the occasion. Despite a prodigious imagination, he could not envision the playful, skilled caresses that had earned him a fair reputation as a lover turning Jane into an eager mate. And the idea of touching a woman who was not only unresponsive, but disdainful, was repugnant to him. All too readily, Raleigh could picture Jane closing her eyes and urging him to be quick about it.