The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(45)

“Did you not hear me, Lord Renwick?” she asked coyly.

No, of course he didn’t hear her because in that same moment his eyes had been drawn to the curve of Sara’s body under her dress. He was too busy fantasizing about what his hand would feel like running down Sara’s bare back when his cousin had made the unfortunate mistake of addressing him.

He cleared his throat. “Of course, Lady Fenton.”

“Interesting,” she said putting her napkin down on her lap. “I thought you, of all people, would be upset to hear that Sir Belverd died last night.”

“What!?” he exclaimed, raising his voice higher than he intended.

“I’m only proving a point. He’s fine, I’m sure. I knew you weren’t listening; it’s easy to read your true thoughts since you’ve been wearing them shamelessly on your sleeve for the past hour. Go. Take my niece and have your celebration.”

He licked his lips and took a breath to say something, but for the first time in his life—well, that was a lie… for the second, third, fourth—he had easily lost track. He didn’t care if the whole of London watched him whisk his wife away, and whisk he did, even though propriety demanded they stay at the breakfast for at least another hour. They said their goodbyes. He hardly noticed Lady Fenton’s amused smile as he rushed Sara into the carriage.

“My turn,” he whispered in her ear and lifted her into the carriage. Her face burned an innocent but beautiful crimson as she averted her eyes from his.

It was with great restraint Nicholas sat opposite his wife during the carriage ride to his house, and if he was being brutally honest with himself—which he had endeavored to be over the past few weeks—he was a bit frightened about overpowering her with his lustful tendencies. The air in the carriage seemed to choke him while he thought about all of the events about to take place.

Yes, he had the reputation of a rake, but people must know most reputations were hardly built on stable fact. Nicholas had taken a few mistresses over the years, but for the most part, it had been easy. He hadn’t loved any but one, and considering how badly that relationship ended, he hadn’t been inclined to enter into one since. All in all, he felt like a boy on his first date. How was he to act? What was he to do? On the outside he appeared much the confident doting husband, but his insides felt like jelly. He wanted every moment spent with Sara to be perfect for her.

Could a reformed rake forget himself and think only of his wife's pleasure? The thought had been haunting him the entire ride back. If Sara was nervous, she didn’t show it. She chattered about the weather, the flowers, the scenery, so much gibberish, in fact, Nicholas was faintly reminded of Lady Fenton.

Then it hit him. She was petrified. Only when Sara was truly out of her element did she jabber on as if the world would crash down around them without her every spoken word to keep it holding firm in place. The thought comforted him more than he realized, and when they pulled up to his house, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He had said he would woo, and woo he would. First, she needed to see all the changes he made to her room, the room that would be adjoining his own. He took a slight gamble in hopes she would one day join him in his room, and maybe, just maybe she would forget about his inability to give her his heart and stay with him anyway. A man could dream, and he was holding onto that dream for dear life.

What does one do with one's wife when he knows she could at any time annul their marriage? At least he was needed, he told himself. Without him she would have no fortune, no money of her own. At least he could help her take care of her family and offer her enough funds to secure her finances. He hadn’t noticed how skinny and haggard she must have appeared at their first meeting. Although beautiful then, now she looked extraordinary. London had been good to her, which was odd; usually the country was good for Londoners.





Chapter Seventeen



His wife stifled a yawn and put her hand lazily into Nicholas’s as she disembarked the carriage. It felt as if they had done nothing all day except get in and out of the blasted thing; he was ready to be done. In fact, he was ready to lock her away in his house—actually, his bedroom sounded even better. He smiled tensely at his butler, who merely rolled his eyes. Nicholas really did need to find better help, or at least help which would try to conceal their always-condescending opinions. His butler had, in fact, been around for nearly all Nicholas's life. Giles had to be close to eighty years old. He was more of a grandfather figure than Nicholas wanted to admit, so he easily saw through the young earl's cool fa?ade with a single glance. Nicholas raised an eyebrow back as a challenge; but his butler simply chuckled and walked away.

“Where is the rest of the staff?” Sara whispered next to him.

“I dismissed them early today. I wanted to serve you, not have you be served by those who serve me.” He hoped for her to get the point. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about her.

She looked somewhat panicked, which he hoped had more to do with nerves and less to do with being alone with him. He gently led her up the staircase and into the chambers, though it was early in the afternoon. Her small hand trembled on his arm, and she probably assumed he wanted to take her right now. She was in for a great surprise if she believed that to be the case.

“In you go.” He opened the door to her chamber and smiled when he heard her gasp of approval.