A Masked Deception

Chapter 2

Richard and Margaret Adair, Earl and Countess of Brampton, sat side by side on the comfortable green velvet seat of his traveling couch. They had been wed that morning and were on their way to the earl's chief seat, Brampton Court in Hampshire, for their honeymoon. They sat now in silence, their forced and stilted conversation having flickered to an end an hour before. Margaret had her eyes closed and pretended to sleep.

Brampton looked across at her from his corner, his eyes inspecting her slowly from head to foot. She had removed her pink bonnet; it lay on the seat opposite. He looked at the brown hair, drawn severely back from her forehead and the sides of her face and coiled in heavy braids on top of her head. Not a wisp or a curl had been allowed to escape, to tease a man's imagination or make his fingers itch to explore. Her face (yes, it was definitely heart-shaped!) was composed, eyes closed, long eyelashes resting lightly against her cheeks, her lips set together.

She still wore her deep-pink velvet pelisse. It hid her figure, though he could see the regular rise and fall of her slight breasts. Her hands, clad in white kid gloves, were clasped neatly in her lap. Her feet in their white ankle boots were set side by side on the floor. He tried to feel some flicker of desire for this meek little wife of his, and felt nothing. He looked into her face again, and at the same moment, those large eyes opened and gazed blankly into his. Brampton felt that same uncomfortable jolt he had experienced on other occasions when he had unexpectedly met her eyes.

"Has the journey tired you, my dear?" he asked kindly.

"A little, my lord," she replied. "These last four weeks have been busy."

"You must call me Richard now," he said, irritated, and turned to the window to stare out at the passing countryside.

Yes, they certainly had been busy weeks, but he thanked Providence for that. He had had little time to think about the fate in store for him, little time to grasp at dishonorable schemes for getting out of his unwanted betrothal.

He had Devin Northcott to thank. His mother and Margaret's had immediately swept to the attack and taken over all the organization of the wedding. Devin, Brampton's friend since childhood, whose parents owned the estate adjoining Brampton Court, had devoted himself to filling every spare moment of his friend's time to keep his mind off his inevitable doom.

"I say, Bram," he had said on first learning of his friend's betrothal, "didn't know the wind lay in that direction. And Miss Wells? Do you have a tendre for her, old man?"

Brampton had snorted. "My mother's and Rosalind's choice," he had explained. "Impeccable lineage and reputation and morals and all that."

"I say, though, Bram, you are planning to turn respectable?" his friend had asked anxiously.

"Have I ever been anything but?" Brampton had raised his eyebrows and favored his friend with a haughty glare.

"Oh, say, Bram, don't come the frosty aristocrat with me," Devin had said, unperturbed. "No offense meant. Was referring to Lisa."

"I shall be quite respectable enough for my wife and my mother and my sisters-all three of them, Dev," the earl had said decisively. "What I do privately and discreetly will hurt no one."

"So Lisa stays," Devin had concluded. "Not fair to the little Miss Wells, though, Bram," he had added daringly.

Only a close friend could have got away with such open criticism of the Earl of Brampton.

"I live my own life, Dev," was the stiff reply he received.

And Devin Northcott had devoted himself to seeing that his friend enjoyed his last few weeks of freedom. They had ridden, played cards, drunk, gone to the races and to boxing mills, spent hours at Jackson's boxing saloon, and wandered from club to club at night, very often not returning home until the early hours of the morning.

Lisa had not been too perturbed by his approaching nuptials. She knew that there was no hope of his marrying her, a mere opera dancer. He was a generous and an attentive protector. She had a comfortable home, an adequate number of servants, many expensive clothes and jewels, and a generous allowance of pin money. She knew from research she had done when he had first suggested becoming her protector that he made generous settlements on his ex-mistresses. She also knew from similar research that Miss Margaret Wells was a little mouse of a woman, almost middle-aged-all of twenty-five to Lisa's twenty-and quite unlikely to be a rival in her lover's bed.

Brampton had visited her more frequently than usual in those last few weeks. He had not been sure how frequently he would be able to get away to her for the first weeks of his marriage, and Devin's comment had made him wonder whether his conscience would allow him to enjoy the illicit liaison once he was a married man. He had bedded Lisa with almost desperate passion in those weeks, allowing his body to become satiated with her practiced feminine charms. His mind had constantly made comparisons with his fiancee's body.

Gazing now out of the carriage window without seeing the passing scenery, Brampton acknowledged he felt some relief that the waiting period was finally over, that the knot was tied. Now that he knew there was definitely no way out, perhaps his mind would be less tortured. The only big ordeal ahead was the consummation of the marriage that must take place within the next few hours. Once that was over, they would be able to settle down into some sort of routine. And he would see that he spent much of his time alone. It was a while since he had visited Brampton Court; there would be plenty of estate business to keep him occupied. And his wife would have much to learn about the house and the running of the household. He would feel contented to leave her in the capable hands of Mrs. Foster, the housekeeper.

Margaret was grateful for the long silence, grateful that her husband did not feel the necessity to keep up the meaningless conversation that had occupied them for the first several miles of their journey.

She needed time to compose her mind after the frantic bustle of the last month. Her mother had taken care of all the arrangements for the wedding. She had been whisked through an endless round of visits to dressmakers, milliners, bootmakers, and the like. She had stood through hours of fittings, standing until every muscle ached as Madame Dumont pinned and measured and tucked and snipped. Margaret had thought that she had ample clothes. But it seemed that none was suitable for a bride's trousseau, especially the bride of the Earl of Brampton.

When she was not shopping or at endless fitting sessions, there were the numerous visitors to receive, flocking to congratulate her on capturing one of the greatest prizes on the matrimonial market. All seemed to think that she was incredibly fortunate; no one commented that the earl was the fortune one.

Of the earl himself, Margaret saw almost nothing. It seemed that her schedule was too full to allow of something so unimportant as meetings with her betrothed. Margaret was not sorry; she felt shy to the point of gaucheness before her very handsome fiance.

The only person who helped Margaret keep a firm hold on sanity and apparent serenity during those weeks was Charlotte. She was ecstatic over her sister's engagement.

"Just think, Meg," she had said, clapping her hands and twirling around the drawing room, on that first day after the earl had left, "you have been insisting for the last year or more that you are just a spinster. And you have been wearing those stupid caps for the last year, though I told you and told you that you were far too pretty and had far too much character to do any such thing. And now you are to be married! And to the Earl of Brampton. He's ever so gorgeous, Meg, even though he's so old."

Margaret smiled as Charlotte paused for breath, and quietly folded her embroidery.

"You see, Meg, he must have realized what a diamond you are."

Margaret smiled again. "He is an older son, Lottie," she explained patiently. "He must marry soon. Do not make a grand romance out of this, my love."

"Phooey!" Charlotte commented inelegantly. "You are eminently suited, Meg. You so small and dainty and so pretty; and he so tall and strong and handsome."

Margaret laughed. "You are looking through the eyes of a fond sister," she said. "I fear not many people would agree with you."

"Well, perhaps he is not that strong or that handsome," Charlotte agreed mischievously.

"You know what I meant," Margaret replied, smiling affectionately at her sister.

Charlotte was to be bridesmaid at the wedding and delighted in every moment of the fittings and the shopping sprees. She had not yet made her come-out, and to her, all the activity was magical. Through a complicated set of negotiations that involved mainly the mothers of the bride and groom, it was agreed that Charlotte would live with her sister and brother-in-law for the Season, after they returned from Hampshire, and that Margaret would undertake to chaperone her come-out. Mr. Wells was relieved to have the chance to return to his own estate after the unexpected expense of Margaret's wedding. Both sisters were delighted by the arrangement.

Margaret wished that they were already back in London. Surely life would be easier there, where there would be numerous activities to occupy their time and furnish them with topics of conversation, and where Charlotte's vivacious personality would fill in any awkward silences.

Margaret was dreading the next week. What would they do to occupy the days? Would Richard take it upon himself to entertain her? She wished for and dreaded such intimacy. How would she converse with him without appearing dull or stupid or silly? Would he go about his own business and leave her to her own devices?

And, of course, the biggest ordeal of all was the night ahead. Would he kiss and caress her as he had so long ago in the Hetheringtons' garden? Her breathing quickened at the thought and she made an effort to control it. She opened her eyes for a moment and found herself looking straight into her husband's eyes. She felt dazed with shock until he asked her if she was tired.

A minute later, as Brampton turned away to the window, Margaret bit her lip. She had seen the flash of annoyance in his eyes as she had called him "my lord." She must accustom herself to calling him Richard, though it seemed too great a familiarity. Goodness, this man was now her husband!

What was he going to think of her tonight? Margaret knew that he was experienced with women. His caresses had told her that six years before. But she had also heard of his many affairs and knew that he kept mistresses. Did he have one now? A sharp stab of pain and jealousy hit her. And she really did not know how to please him. She did not even know what came after the stage of love-making they had reached in the garden, though she knew that it had something to do with the bulge of desire she had felt when he had pulled her against him. She must just learn. She drew some comfort from his remembered words. He had called her a "very passionate little innocent." Would it be enough?

Margaret sighed inaudibly, opened her eyes, and turned to gaze sightlessly out of the window on her side of the carriage. No point in teasing herself over something that she could not control.

Margaret sat at the dresser while Kitty brushed her long wavy hair until it shone.

"Braid it, please, Kitty," she instructed.

"Oh, miss-I mean, my lady, it looks so lovely this way. Leave it just for tonight."

"No. The braids, Kitty," Margaret answered firmly. She did not understand herself. She recognized that she looked feminine, almost attractive, with her hair down. And she knew that the braids made her look prim-Charlotte had told her so often enough. She wanted to attract her husband's admiration, but she could not bring herself to cast out deliberate lures. For the same reason, she had chosen a high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown that swept the floor. The only concession she had made to Charlotte's loud protests was the liberal amount of lace that trimmed it. Kitty had unpacked it earlier with the rest of her trousseau that had come in a baggage coach, with Kitty and Stevens.

Kitty pursed her lips when Margaret rose from the stool. She obviously did not approve either of the nightgown or of the heavy braid draped over each shoulder as suitable for her mistress's wedding night.

"Shall I wait, my lady?" she asked doubtfully as Margaret climbed into the huge four-poster bed with its heavy gold brocade hangings.

"No, Kitty, you may leave." Margaret suppressed a panic-stricken urge to make some excuse to keep her maid with her. "And you may leave the candle burning."

Kitty gave her an anxious glance, curtsied, and withdrew.

Margaret slid down on the pillows and forced herself to wait calmly. How long would he be? She had left him downstairs in the drawing room. He had some business to attend to, he had explained, before he retired. How should she behave? Should she respond as she had before? Would he think her wanton? Would he be disgusted to find that he had a wife who would welcome his lovemaking eagerly and with passion? Should she behave with quiet decorum as she would be expected by her mother to behave on such an occasion?

Her thoughts whirled on until she heard the door that led from his bedroom into the adjoining dressing room open. Her heart hammered until she was afraid that she would not be able to breathe. Almost immediately, there was a soft tap on the door that led from her room into the dressing room. Brampton did not wait for an answer; he entered his wife's bedroom.

He was wearing a dark-red, silk dressing gown. The snowy white neckline of his nightshirt showed beneath. Margaret fixed her eyes on his face, afraid that she would lose her courage otherwise. He walked across to the bed and looked down into her large, calm eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You have had an exhausting day, my dear," he said quietly, searching her face for some expression that would give sign of her feelings. Did she have none? "Perhaps you would prefer that I should bid you good night?"

"I am not overtired, my lord-Richard," she said softly. Had she really said that? How brazen it sounded once the words were out of her mouth. But she could not bear to put this off, to have to go through the same torture again tomorrow night.

Brampton looked into her face for a few seconds more, then leaned over to the side table and blew out the candle. Margaret felt his weight lifting from the bed, presumably while he removed his dressing gown, and then he was in the bed beside her. She put her arms at her sides, moist palms flat on the bedsheet, and forced herself to relax.

He leaned across her and with an incredibly deft movement of his hands lifted her nightgown to her waist. Margaret barely suppressed a gasp of humiliation. He moved across her and lowered his weight onto her body so that she was crushed between him and the mattress. His hands went beneath her and tilted her closer to him at the same time as his knees came between her thighs and forced her legs wide apart. Before Margaret could react to the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her, she felt an unfamiliar hardness press against her.

Brampton paused in his entry when he felt the resistance of her virginity. He raised his head and looked briefly into her eyes, which were like shadowed pools in the darkness of the room. Damn! He had never entered a virgin before. Was he about to hurt her badly? He pushed himself carefully the rest of the way in. She did not flinch.

Margaret dug her fingers, clawlike, into the mattress and concentrated on her breathing. Was this it? Was it over now?

Brampton moved his hands to her shoulders, pinning them to the bed, and began to thrust with deep, firm strokes, working himself to a climax as quickly as he could. When he was finished, he relaxed against her for a few seconds, then lifted his head once more to look down at her. She still had her eyes open, staring up at him. Had he hurt her? It must be dreadful to be a woman in her situation. As he disengaged himself gently from her body, he raised one hand and brushed the knuckles softly over her cheek. He felt the stirring of some emotion-tenderness? No, definitely not that. Compassion?

"Did I hurt you, my dear?" he murmured.

"No, Richard." The voice was higher-pitched than usual, but quite firm.

He lifted himself away from her, swung off the bed, and put his dressing gown back on over his nightshirt. He paused before leaving the room.

"Sleep well, my dear," he said. "You need rest."

And he was gone.

Back in his own room, Brampton sank into a brocaded chair close to the blazing fire that a footman had built up a short while before, and blew out his breath through puffed cheeks.

That was over!

And really it had not been so bad. He had been horribly afraid that he might have to cope with maidenly tears or hysterics. He had to admit that his wife had class. She must have been terrified near out of her wits, and he knew he must have hurt her. But she had neither flinched nor murmured. Her body beneath his had felt strange, although, out of respect for her feelings, he had not explored it. He was used to choosing for himself women with more hills and curves. But her slight little figure had not felt totally unpleasant.

Having to visit her bed regularly until she was with child might not be quite as distasteful as he had anticipated.

Margaret lay in shock. It had been horrible, horrible! She had known that he did not love her, that he had married her only because he needed a wife and a mother for his children. But she was still aghast at the discovery of just how indifferent to her he was.

He had been totally uninterested in her body or her feelings. There had been no attempt to prepare her, to get her ready either physically or emotionally for his invasion. And in all her imaginings, she had never dreamed of such a deep and ruthless occupation of her body.

He had not made the slightest attempt to find out what she had to offer him. He had used her-yes, quite dispassionately used her, for only one purpose: to sow his seed in her womb.

Oh, she hated him, hated him!

Margaret slammed her face into one pillow and pulled another over her head to stifle the deep and painful sobs that racked her body for many minutes before she finally fell into an exhausted and unhappy sleep.