Free The Marriage Act by Alyssa Everett
Authors: Alyssa Everett
might not measure up to her Lieutenant Howe. This wasn’t about his own pride and self-importance.
Goaded, he lunged forward and seized her by the wrist. “Damn it, madam, I didn’t propose marriage to a widow or a victim of ravishment because they weren’t
you
. God forgive me, I thought I was in love with you.”
She stared back at him, her eyes startled in the pale, perfect oval of her face.
“The reason it matters has nothing to do with your being untarnished, or with having to pay for your sins.” He gave her arm a shake. “It has to do with your being
honest
. With my wishing to believe that night meant something to you. That’s what I expected in a bride—not virginity, but closeness and honesty and trust.”
She gulped. “You’re hurting me.”
He glanced down to where he gripped her wrist, and released her at once. His fingers had left livid marks on the white skin above her glove. Shocked at himself, he lounged back against the seat. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have allowed my feelings to...I think we’ve said quite enough on this topic.”
She gaped at him as if she’d never seen him before.
He avoided her eyes, choosing instead to examine the view out the window. Why had he asked her about their wedding night? It was ancient history now. Worse yet, why had he lost his temper with her? They’d been doing so well, and he’d even begun to wonder if...
He should have left well enough alone.
Silence reigned inside the carriage. The only sounds were the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the coach springs. Long minutes passed while he marveled that he could have asked such a tactless question or lost his composure so completely. Normally he prided himself on his self-control. He’d sooner cut his own throat than hurt a woman.
“Welford,” Caroline said in an unsteady voice after they’d gone for some time without speaking. “I was a virgin that night. It shouldn’t matter, and you don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth.”
He didn’t reply, because she was right. It shouldn’t matter.
But it was one small confidence she’d shared with him, and for that he was unaccountably grateful.
* * *
They were almost an hour past their third change of horses when the clouds burst.
The rain came down in a sudden torrent, rattling against the carriage roof. Welford had been in a funk ever since...well, ever since that strange outburst between Old Stratford and Northampton, but at the sound he opened the carriage door and leaned out. “Ronnie!” he shouted. “Tether Argos to that tree and come in out of the rain. We’ll stop until this slows.”
Caro shrank back from the rain pelting through the open door.
“You too, Leitner,” Welford called, though Caro couldn’t see his valet. He pulled his head back inside. “It’s coming down in buckets.”
She might have guessed as much, if not from the clatter on the roof then from his appearance. He hadn’t had his head outside the carriage door for more than fifteen seconds, but his black hair curled wetly against his forehead.
The carriage stopped, and a few seconds later the valet opened the door and sprang inside, shutting it quickly behind him. “Such fine English weather,” he said in his strange accent, breathless with haste and the exertion of scrambling down from the rumble. He took the seat across from her, his back to the horses, and Welford moved to join her.
Half a minute later, Ronnie burst in, drenched to the bone. Wearing a grin, he plopped down next to the valet. “It’s cats and dogs out there.”
Leitner’s brow wrinkled. “Cats and dogs?”
“
Schusterbuben
,” Welford translated.
“Ah.”
Ronnie pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket. He took a long swallow, then held it out to his brother. “Care for a nip?”
Welford eyed it askance. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, it’s not gin, it’s brandy. Good brandy. I pinched it from your house in Town.”
“Perhaps later,” her
Goaded, he lunged forward and seized her by the wrist. “Damn it, madam, I didn’t propose marriage to a widow or a victim of ravishment because they weren’t
you
. God forgive me, I thought I was in love with you.”
She stared back at him, her eyes startled in the pale, perfect oval of her face.
“The reason it matters has nothing to do with your being untarnished, or with having to pay for your sins.” He gave her arm a shake. “It has to do with your being
honest
. With my wishing to believe that night meant something to you. That’s what I expected in a bride—not virginity, but closeness and honesty and trust.”
She gulped. “You’re hurting me.”
He glanced down to where he gripped her wrist, and released her at once. His fingers had left livid marks on the white skin above her glove. Shocked at himself, he lounged back against the seat. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have allowed my feelings to...I think we’ve said quite enough on this topic.”
She gaped at him as if she’d never seen him before.
He avoided her eyes, choosing instead to examine the view out the window. Why had he asked her about their wedding night? It was ancient history now. Worse yet, why had he lost his temper with her? They’d been doing so well, and he’d even begun to wonder if...
He should have left well enough alone.
Silence reigned inside the carriage. The only sounds were the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the coach springs. Long minutes passed while he marveled that he could have asked such a tactless question or lost his composure so completely. Normally he prided himself on his self-control. He’d sooner cut his own throat than hurt a woman.
“Welford,” Caroline said in an unsteady voice after they’d gone for some time without speaking. “I was a virgin that night. It shouldn’t matter, and you don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth.”
He didn’t reply, because she was right. It shouldn’t matter.
But it was one small confidence she’d shared with him, and for that he was unaccountably grateful.
* * *
They were almost an hour past their third change of horses when the clouds burst.
The rain came down in a sudden torrent, rattling against the carriage roof. Welford had been in a funk ever since...well, ever since that strange outburst between Old Stratford and Northampton, but at the sound he opened the carriage door and leaned out. “Ronnie!” he shouted. “Tether Argos to that tree and come in out of the rain. We’ll stop until this slows.”
Caro shrank back from the rain pelting through the open door.
“You too, Leitner,” Welford called, though Caro couldn’t see his valet. He pulled his head back inside. “It’s coming down in buckets.”
She might have guessed as much, if not from the clatter on the roof then from his appearance. He hadn’t had his head outside the carriage door for more than fifteen seconds, but his black hair curled wetly against his forehead.
The carriage stopped, and a few seconds later the valet opened the door and sprang inside, shutting it quickly behind him. “Such fine English weather,” he said in his strange accent, breathless with haste and the exertion of scrambling down from the rumble. He took the seat across from her, his back to the horses, and Welford moved to join her.
Half a minute later, Ronnie burst in, drenched to the bone. Wearing a grin, he plopped down next to the valet. “It’s cats and dogs out there.”
Leitner’s brow wrinkled. “Cats and dogs?”
“
Schusterbuben
,” Welford translated.
“Ah.”
Ronnie pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket. He took a long swallow, then held it out to his brother. “Care for a nip?”
Welford eyed it askance. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, it’s not gin, it’s brandy. Good brandy. I pinched it from your house in Town.”
“Perhaps later,” her