Free The Prince's Bride by Victoria Alexander Page B

I will try to remember he is in very much the same boat I am. But not tonight.” She smiled weakly. “Tonight I want to feel sorry for myself. And I want my sisters to be terribly sympathetic and I want you”—she looked at Becky—“to see if you can find any sweets in the kitchen that we can all share.”
    “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard tonight.” Becky started for the door, then stopped and turned back. “You know, Beaumont might have had the solution all along.”
    “Oh?” Jocelyn raised a brow.
    “Well, while there is a certain stigma to annulment or divorce there’s none to being a widow.” Becky’s voice carried a feigned note of innocence. “And didn’t Beaumont say the best you could hope for was to be a young widow?”
    “Becky!” Marianne groaned. “Don’t give her any ideas.”
    “I’ve had that one already, thank you.” Jocelyn wrinkled her nose. “It didn’t seem particularly practical.”
    “Oh well.” Becky shrugged. “At least he’s handsome.”
    With eyes that seemed to see into her very soul.
    “And amusing,” Marianne said.
    And arms that promised comfort and security.
    “And wonderfully mysterious.” Becky nodded.
    And a kiss that warmed her toes.
    “It would be rather a shame to waste all that,” Jocelyn murmured. “I suppose I’m not spoiled enough to want Beaumont dead just so I can be his widow.
    “Pity, I can’t see myself being his wife either.”
    Chapter 5
    “We’re here.” Beaumont’s voice jerked Jocelyn awake.
    “Here where?” Jocelyn pulled herself upright and shook her head in an effort to wake up.
    How long had she been on that blasted horse anyway? She’d never particularly envied men the freedom to ride astride, she’d never ridden much herself, but it would be infinitely easier for an endless ride like this than her sidesaddle. Every muscle and joint in her body ached.
    It was dark, obviously late in the night. The second night of their journey. At least she thought it was the second night. She’d long since lost any real sense of time.
    The last twenty-four-plus hours were a blur of high emotion and deep exhaustion. Immediately after their brief but nonetheless awkward wedding ceremony, her sisters, her aunt, and Thomas had started off for Effington Hall in a coach Jocelyn would have gladly killed for, accompanied by a raft of servants. Jocelyn and Beaumont had slipped away on horseback, alone, in an opposite direction.
    They’d ridden through the night, stopping at daybreak only to exchange horses. Beaumont would allow them to pause now and then to share the surprisingly tasty bread, cheese, and wine he’d brought with him and take care of personal needs. From what she could tell, they traveled on little-used roads. Beaumont was unfailingly polite and really rather considerate. Still, his sense of urgency communicated itself to her, and she refused to complain. Or at least not too often.
    She dozed off and on, amazed anyone could rest on a horse at all but finding a bit of refuge in sleep. Fortunately her mount followed his without any particular effort on her part. Good. The last thing she wanted to admit to him was that she’d never been a more than adequate rider. It was difficult to ride with confidence when one couldn’t see where one was going.
    Their positions made it impossible to talk. She was grateful for that too. Jocelyn had decided to stop feeling sorry for herself and to accept her fate but had no idea how to go about getting to know this man. Her husband.
    Somehow the flirtatious banter she’d perfected during the season did not seem particularly appropriate to her current circumstances. Fluttering her fan and gazing in a wide-eyed, adoring manner while commenting on something of no substance whatsoever didn’t equate to fleeing for her life, newly married to a virtual stranger. Besides, she’d spent most of the journey being far too weary to do more than struggle to stay on the blasted creature beneath