The Lady's Disgrace Page 4

  Abigail smiled in return before the innkeeper nodded to Joseph. “May I congratulate you on your marriage and your lovely bride?”

  “Thank you. May we have a private dining room?”

  “Of course. My wife will be happy to assist your lady to refresh herself.” He led them through the common dining area to a small room at the back. Even though it was early summer, a fire burned, keeping the night dampness from the room.

  “Please excuse me, I will send in Mrs. Weston.”

  Abigail moved toward the fireplace extending her hands. Within minutes, the innkeeper’s wife arrived and escorted her to the privy.

  The two women departed, and Joseph tamped down the nervous twitches in his stomach. He wanted everything to be perfect for her. There was no doubt any feelings Abigail had for him stemmed from their childhood. If in the future, she ever felt anything more, he would consider it a blessing. To have her for his wife was beyond anything of which he’d ever dreamed. As much as he’d like to beat Redgrave to a pulp for what he’d done to Abigail, he should send the man a thank you note. Abigail was now his.

  Abigail returned to the private dining room the same time the innkeeper was delivering a drink to Joseph.

  “I asked for tea to be sent.” He said as he held her chair.

  “Thank you. I think I need that more than I do food, at this point.” She studied him for a moment. “Joseph, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You have known me and my family for many years.”

  He nodded as he took a sip of his brandy. Once again he was having a difficult time concentrating on her words. All he saw where those plump, ripe lips moving. His groin tightened as his thoughts drifted toward the bedrooms upstairs where he soon would be alone with his wife to nibble on those soft lips, and then proceed south from there…

  “You must remember my mother organizing games for the village children. Do you recall how she used to rescue puppies and lead us all in snowball fights?”

  He pulled himself back from his lascivious thoughts and replayed her question in his mind, grinning at the picture of the dowager duchess behaving in a most un-duchess like manner many times over the years. It was one of the reasons he’d always been so comfortable at Manchester Manor. Never did anyone make him feel as though he was beneath them and had no right to be there. He and Drake had been friends throughout their childhood.

  Abigail nodded her thanks to the innkeeper who placed a tea pot, cup and saucer in front of her.

  Before she was able to pick up the conversation again, the innkeeper’s wife arrived with bowls of fragrant stew, warm fresh bread and butter. Her stomach gave a very unladylike growl as the enticing smells wafted in the air. “Oh, this looks wonderful!”

  Mrs. Weston blushed as she placed a dish of steaming vegetables on the table. “Thank you, milady.”

  Once the innkeeper and his wife withdrew from the room, Abigail tasted her stew and murmured her delight. “This is delicious.”

  Those rich lips covered her spoon in a way that had his mouth drying up. He cleared his throat, pulling his gaze way from the sight. “I’ve always found their fare to be tasty. But simple.”

  “That is what I want to speak with you about.” Abigail placed her spoon alongside her bowl. “Joseph, you know the sort of family I come from, and that my brother married a woman who most of the ton perceived as unsuitable.”

  “Now, wait just a minute. Her Grace is a wonderful—”

  “I know, I know.” She waved her hand. “I was not disparaging my sister-in-law. In fact, I love her dearly and am thrilled beyond imagining she is a part of my family. I merely wanted to point that out to you, because I get the feeling you assume whatever life you enjoy, and have offered to me, is somehow lacking. That I will be unhappy married to a rector.”

  “That is not exactly true—”

  “Yes, it is. You keep apologizing. For your coach, the inn, the food. Heavens, have I ever given you the impression that I needed luxury to survive?”

  Joseph used his index finger to draw around the rim of his glass, avoiding her gaze. “No. Neither you, nor any member of your family has ever given me that impression. I apologize. You no doubt think I am an idiot.”

  “No. That isn’t what I think. I just wanted to get that out of the way. It was beginning to feel awkward.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I know.”

  Abigail slid her hand out from under his and continued with her meal. Once she finished, she wiped her mouth, and carefully laid the serviette next to her plate. Taking in a deep breath, she said, “There is also one more thing I would like to address.”

  “Yes?”

  A slight blush began on her neck above the lace on her bodice. It slowly spread to her face as she fiddled with her spoon, swallowing several times. She glanced at him, then back down again, extremely interested in the pattern on the plate holding a piece of bread. Her fingers began to crumble the bread as she worked her mouth, apparently having a problem forming whatever words she intended to speak.

  What the devil was the problem now? She definitely looked decidedly uneasy.

  Abigail blurted, “I don’t wish to consummate our marriage just yet.”

  Chapter Four

  Joseph swallowed his drink and was overtaken by a paroxysm of coughing. He didn’t believe he’d heard correctly. Did his new wife just tell him she had no desire to join him in bed on their wedding night? Based on her red face and the nervous fumbling she was doing with her spoon, he had a sinking feeling that was exactly what she’d just said. But this was Abigail! The most outspoken, strong and independent of the Lacey girls. She’d never been a bashful miss, and there certainly was nothing shy or retiring about her.

  Then it struck him. She was still in love with Redgrave. After all the man had done to her. Despite the disgrace and humiliation, her feelings for the cad were still so strong she could not give herself to her husband. The hurt at her rejection was swiftly shoved aside as anger took over.

  “As you wish, madam. Far be it from me to force my own wife to my bed.”

  Abigail’s head jerked up, and she stared at him wide-eyed. She stiffened and nodded. “Very well, then.”

  “That is your desire—I mean, your preference?”

  “Yes. Indeed. I would like to wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Well. Until I feel—you know—until such time that it seems…appropriate.” She finished lamely.

  His eyebrows rose. “Appropriate? We are married.”

  “I know that, but it was all so sudden.”

  Sudden? They’d known each other since she was out of leading strings. His gut tightened when he wondered if she would have given this ultimatum to Redgrave. Before his brain could take control of his mouth, the words were out. “Is that the arrangement you had with Redgrave?”

  Abigail paled and gasped. “No. That is, we never discussed it.”

  He leaned forward. “Why did you not discuss it?”

  “It never came up, and besides we were betrothed for a few months. So we were more familiar.”

  “Familiar? My dear wife, I have seen you with your undergarments plastered to your body as you came out of the lake after swimming with your sisters.”

  “I was eleven years old!”

  Joseph downed the rest of his brandy and called for more. He slid his empty bowl away from him as the innkeeper brought a bottle and placed it on the table.

  “When you are ready to retire, Mr. Fox, my wife has a special room prepared for you and your new wife.”

  Joseph grunted as he poured the brandy into his glass.

  “Thank you, Weston,” Abigail said. “If your wife will be so kind as to show me to our room, I am ready to retire.”

  Joseph muttered under his breath, then swilled the brown liquid in his glass. It was just as well he’d learned that Abigail’s feelings
were still engaged. She’d been right. Their marriage was no more than an arrangement for two people to work together to build the school, attend to the needs of his parishioners, and produce children. Although the producing of children would be a tad difficult if she did not want to share his bed.

  “I will see you upstairs.” Abigail slid back her chair as the innkeeper’s wife entered the room.

  Joseph saluted her with his glass and downed the drink. He knew he was behaving like an arse, but he was angry. It stung to be newly married and discover that your wife was in love with another man.

  …

  Abigail stiffened her spine and left the room, trailing behind the portly woman who led her upstairs. If she ever needed proof that the only reason Joseph had married her was because of her dowry, his attitude when she said she didn’t want to consummate their marriage just yet, confirmed it.

  He had not even tried to dissuade her, only questioned her on Redgrave. Whatever had he to do with the conversation? Joseph hadn’t even asked her to explain. Not that she could have, since she had no idea why she’d said what she had. As she’d sat at the table with a new husband, with the night looming in front of her, she’d felt uneasy, as if she were doing something wrong. So in a fit of panic, she’d made that stupid statement.

  Instead of the blasted man attempting to deter her from her decision by sweet talking, or even trying to seduce her, he’d brought Redgrave into the discussion. Then he’d merely accepted her words and proceeded to attempt to drink the inn dry.

  After bidding the innkeeper’s wife a good night, she mumbled to herself as she set her bonnet and gloves on the dresser. She didn’t want sweet talking, bald-faced lies, and false romance, anyway. She’d got precisely what she’d wanted. A marriage that would provide her with a home and, eventually, children. And an outlet for her energy. If that didn’t sit well, then she’d not spend a great deal of time wallowing in self-pity.

  As she unbuttoned her pelisse, she surveyed the room. By public inn standards, it was lovely. Someone had turned down the bed sheets and lit candles around the room. A bottle of wine rested in a bucket, along with two wine glasses. Her eyes took that all in, but settled on the large tub near the fireplace with steam rising from the water.

  A bath would be just the thing. Once the promised maid arrived, Abigail would soak in the hot water until her skin wrinkled.

  Much later, she wandered the room in her nightgown, examining the bottle of wine, tempted to open it and have a glass, then set it firmly down in the bucket.

  Hell and damnation, where was the man? Was he so annoyed with her that he planned to sleep at the dining table? She’d no sooner formed that complete thought when there was a banging on the room door.

  “Yes?”

  “Open the door.”

  The voice sounded like Joseph, but odd, and his words a bit garbled. She hurried to the door. “Joseph? Is that you?”

  “I think so,” he answered sotto voce.

  Frowning, she opened the door. Joseph had apparently been leaning against it, and the movement caused him to bolt into the room. Arms spinning, he fought to keep himself upright as he barreled past her.

  He stumbled to the bed, grabbed the bedpost and hung on, swinging to and fro. “I am here.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Indeed.”

  He pulled himself up and released the bedpost, only to make a grab for it when he started to slide sideways.

  “Sir, you are drunk!”

  “I believe you are right, wife.” He hiccupped.

  His hair stood straight up, as if he’d spent the past few hours running his fingers through it. His coat was gone, his cravat hung limply around his neck. He peered at her through blood shot eyes. “I am sorry there is only one bed. At least I think there is only one. Right now it is hard to say. It appears we will be forced to sleep next to each other, or I can sleep on the floor.” He burped.

  Abigail wasn’t altogether sure that was what he said, his words coming out somewhat twisted. As he released one hand from the bedpost to wave at the bed, then at the floor, it was her best guess.

  “There is no need for you to sleep on the floor. I can sleep in the chair.”

  He shook his head, then moaned. “No, should not do that,” he mumbled. “Not gentlemanly.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You will not sleep in the chair.” He surrendered his battle to remain upright, and sat on the bed, swaying, trying hard to focus on her. “Stand still.”

  Abigail sighed. She’d seen her brother in his cups a few times, so she knew there was no point in attempting a conversation. She strode to the bed and poked him in his chest. As she expected, he fell backward. Kneeling, she tugged his boots off, then stood, hands on her hips and regarded him. He was already snoring.

  She shook her head in disgust as she moved around the room, blowing out what was left of the candles. With the pale moonlight filtering in through the window, she climbed into bed, and pulled up the blanket. She lay on her back, her hands clasped on her stomach.

  No doubt she’d made a mistake in asking for time before they made love. On the other hand, in doing so, she’d learned what prompted Joseph to marry her. And it was certainly not any great desire to take her to bed. She thumped the pillow and turned onto her stomach. It didn’t matter. As long as they were intimate enough times for her to conceive a child, she would be happy.

  Or at least content.

  …

  Abigail shifted, snuggling closer to the warmth. There was a thumping in her ear, the soothing cadence almost lulling her back to sleep until she became aware of her surroundings. She was lying in bed, but she was not alone. She moved her fingers and the tips came into contact with warm skin.

  Her knee was bent, but also lying atop warm skin. Warm and hairy. A leg. Goodness gracious, a man’s leg. Joseph! She slowly moved her head, tilting her chin until she looked into two deep brown eyes staring back at her. “Oh.”

  She was sprawled all over her husband’s body in a most unladylike fashion. Her husband’s naked body! She scooted back, immediately feeling bereft at the loss of warmth. “Why are you undressed?”

  “Because I sleep that way.”

  “But you were dressed last night. All I did was remove your boots.”

  “Yes, well I awoke a few hours ago and divested myself of my clothing.” He extended his hand. “Come here, Abigail.”

  She shook her head, pulling the covers up to her chin. Joseph slid closer, tracing circles on her cheek with his finger. “So soft.” He cupped her face, rubbing his thumb along her lips.

  Heat began to rise in her middle, spreading upward, causing tingles in her breasts. Was he preparing to do now what she’d denied him last night? Perhaps it would be best to get it over with, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it all day.

  His warm fingers traced her jawline, moving down to her throat, where they circled, then lower to her chest, to the top of her breasts. Her breathing hitched, and she waited for what he would do next.

  She licked her lips and dragged her gaze from the mesmerizing sight of his fingers to his face. His brown eyes had darkened to almost black, his eyelids heavy. He wrapped his palm around her neck and tugged her toward him.

  Abigail began to move forward, then jerked back and quickly rolled over, away from him, her feet landing squarely on the floor. “I need to clean my mouth.”

  His unamused chuckle followed her as she hurried to the wash bowl sitting on the dresser across the room. She eyed him in the mirror, leaning against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head as he watched her. He was devastatingly handsome with his tumbled hair resting on his forehead, a slight smile teasing his lips. His bare chest was more muscular than she would have thought a rector’s chest ought to be. Light brown hairs dusted the center area, snaking down to disappear under the blanket at his waist.

  A distinct bulge raised the sheet over his lap. When he noticed her staring at that spot, he grinned. Flustered, she drew her eyes aw
ay and did a quick wash of her face and hands, and brushed her teeth. She grabbed her frock and under things and bolted behind the dressing screen. Within seconds she heard Joseph leave the bed, and rustling sounds that indicated he was dressing.

  Her flesh burned as she slid the nightgown off and wiggled into her chemise. She placed her hands on her cheeks, trying to dismiss what had just happened. Already her determination to hold herself apart from him was in jeopardy. The man had barely touched her, and even now she had to fight to keep from whipping her chemise off and dragging him back to the bed to finish what he’d started.

  With a deep breath, she pulled herself together to continue dressing. She would not allow him to fluster her, to cause her to shilly-shally about how this marriage would go on. They had work to do, and allowing whatever it was he’d just done to her get in the way, would destroy her resolve.

  Holding out her stays, she considered the problem of how to lace them up. Either she could leave them off—as no lady would do—or ask her husband to help. “Joseph?”

  “Yes.” From the sound of his voice and the splashing, she assumed he was at the wash bowl.

  “Can you, er, that is, would you be so kind as to—”

  “What?”

  “I need help with my stays.” Once again her face heated as though she would burst into flames. What was the matter with her? She had never been shy or hesitant. It appeared marriage had turned her into a blathering idiot.

  “Certainly. Come out here where I can see better.”

  Clutching the garment to her chest, she stepped out from behind the dressing screen and presented her back to him. Whereupon her husband—the rector—proceeded to lace her up with all the speed and experience that she would have expected from a London rake. A bit disconcerted by that, she returned to finish dressing.

  “I will go downstairs and arrange for our breakfast,” Joseph said.

  “Thank you. I shall join you shortly.”

  She exhaled when she heard the door close. This would not do. She was a nervous wreck, and she had no idea why. This was Joseph, for heaven’s sake. She’d known him all her life. He had been her first infatuation, her brother’s best friend. Why should she be so uncomfortable with him now that they were alone?