The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(18)
The devil and his bastard bride.
The words played through her mind, mocking her as they’d ridden in silence for the remainder of the journey. With that one sentence he’d brought her back to reality. With those few words he’d broken through the silly, romantic daydream she’d been harboring all morning.
Who was she fooling? It was a girlish fantasy that had lingered from childhood, ever since that first time he had come to her defense. Back then she hadn’t understood what the jibes had meant. That awful bully had been years older and far more worldly than she. All she’d known was that she was being offended, mocked, degraded… and Frederick, the future Earl of Davenport, had come to her aid.
Ever since that moment she’d come to think of him as her own personal knight in shining armor. She’d heard the stories of his wicked ways but had always insisted that he wasn’t as bad as everyone believed. She’d thought she’d seen something in him. A kindness, a goodness, a wild spirit that was woefully misunderstood. She’d thought perhaps it was something only she could see.
She’d even suspected, or perhaps hoped, they’d shared that secret. That connection.
Falling back against the closed door, she bit her lip to stifle another sob. Perhaps she had just been a fool.
After her initial shock over that morning’s proposal, she’d rushed to her room to pack and had allowed her girlish daydreams to sweep over her, clouding her judgment and coloring the situation in a rosy romantic hue.
When Jed had tried to talk to her about her decision, she had waved him off, certain that any objections he might have over this marriage or the quick wedding were unfounded. She’d actually managed to convince herself that the proposal and the rushed wedding were romantic, that he hadn’t wanted to wait another moment to make her his wife. When, in fact, his decision to marry her and his haste had been all in the name of mockery. There was no other way to see it. He hadn’t wanted her for her, he’d wanted a scandal. He’d wanted to shock the ton by marrying a woman with whispers attached to her name. And he’d wanted to do it quickly to get the most out of this latest shock.
Tears choked her and she pressed her lips together to stifle them. She shouldn’t be upset. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She was an intelligent woman—most of the time, at least. She’d been raised with low expectations when it came to marriage and her standing in society.
The urge to sob again was so overpowering it caused her chest to tighten painfully. She’d never expected to marry well, so instead she’d garnered an altogether more ludicrous hope… that she might marry for love.
A knock on the door behind her had her spinning around, facing the closed door.
“Anne, it’s me.” Davenport’s voice through the door had her tensing. “May I come in?” She opened her mouth to say no. They weren’t married yet. She didn’t have to allow him into her rooms.
But resignation made her tired and weary, and she let out a long sigh. After tomorrow she would be his to do with as he pleased. He’d be free to bed her or ignore her as the whim struck.
At the very least, her family would be saved.
She stared at the door as he knocked once more, this time with a firm bang bang bang. After tomorrow he could most certainly barge his way into his room, so why bother trying to keep him out now?
He was in the middle of knocking again, even harder this time, when she threw it open so quickly his fist came down on thin air.
She’d forgotten to glance in the mirror before she’d opened it and she feared even that brief stint of tears had left her looking ridiculous. Either that or she’d grown a second head. That was the only other explanation for his shocked look of horror as he took in the sight of her.
Wonderful, she thought with a sniff. That was just how she hoped her bridegroom would regard her on the eve of her wedding.
“Are you all right?” he asked, coming into the room without asking permission and closing the door behind him.
It briefly occurred to her to object but what would be the point? To preserve her reputation? Absurd! He wanted her because her reputation was in shambles and he aimed to make her look even worse with a rushed wedding.
Instead of answering, she turned from him. “I’m tired from the journey, that is all.”
There was a long sigh behind her. “Anne, one of the things I’ve always admired about you is your unerring honesty, whether it is wanted or not. Now is truly not the time to try your hand at lying.”
She cast a look over her shoulder, confused by the gentleness of his tone as much as by the intimacy of it. It did not escape her notice that he was admitting to knowing her. Up until now he’d seemed content to pretend that he barely knew her, let alone played with her during her childhood or protected her from that nasty village boy.
“You’ve never been much of a liar,” he added, moving toward her until she grew alarmingly aware of the fact that they were very much alone. No worried former governesses or concerned sisters hovered outside the door, and this was no formal drawing room.
He set his hands on her shoulders and gently urged her into a seat at the table. Her maid had brought food before leaving and it called to her now, the smell of freshly baked bread managing to temporarily overcome her heartbreak.
“Why don’t you eat some supper and tell me what has you so distraught.”