Page 35 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
The woman before him continued to astound him. She might possibly be the finest woman he’d ever met. Here she was, about to wed a virtual stranger, and she was worried that he might think she’d tried to trap him. He moved toward her, the desire to discover all the layers that made up this woman strong within him.
He hooked a finger under her chin and raised her face until their eyes collided. The worry in the depths of hers stirred him. “You didn’t trap me, Frederica. I did that myself, the minute I touched you once more. I could have possibly walked away from you before the garden, but after—”
“You feel obligated to wed me because of my father’s threat?”
He shook his head. “No. I am obligated to wed you because I compromised you, and I could not stand by and watch you sacrifice yourself to a man like Brooke.”
She looked stricken. Women were so bloody perplexing. “That’s very noble of you,” she said, sounding glum.
He frowned. “And that makes you unhappy?”
“No, of course not. I’m unhappy because we don’t know each other. I was so concentrated on saving my sister’s dream of wedding Asterly that I didn’t truly consider that, in wedding you, I’m wedding a stranger. I never even thought to wed. I thought to move to Covent Garden and live as I pleased in a place I would finally feel accepted for who I am.”
The best to thing to do in accordance with his intent to keep her at a distance would be to offer her vague reassuring words. Words that didn’t draw them closer, yet he found there was no chance he could do that to her, knowing how worried she was in this moment. So instead, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, and she smiled shyly at him, making his chest tighten. “We won’t remain strangers, Frederica.” They could be friends, of a sort.
“Yes,” she muttered, still looking worried.
“What is it?” he encouraged her.
She nibbled on her lip for a moment before answering. “What if we find we don’t like each other? Marriage is for life.”
“I don’t think we’ll have that problem,” he said, and because she still looked concerned, and was once again nibbling her lip, he brushed a light kiss there, driven by the desire to set her at ease.
She exhaled slowly, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Desiring someone is not the same as liking them,” she said, her voice soft and filled with trepidation.
A knock came at the door, followed by her father demanding to know if they were ready.
By the earl’s impatient tone, Gabe knew the man was not of a mind to give them much longer. Gabe took in her face, suddenly very white. He caught her fingertips in his, unsure if she was more worried that she would not like him or that he would not like her. Whichever case it was, he wanted to reassure her. He brought her fingertips up and kissed them. “We’ve little choice in the matter to wed at this point, do we?”
“No,” she said, looking glum. “I am sorry. I would offer to back out, but I cannot. Yet, if you wish to, I will not hate you.”
She was giving him a way out, but it was one he could never take. “I may have grown up on the streets, but I’m a man of honor, as I told you, and I wouldn’t be if I backed out.”
“Yes, yes. It’s good and solidified in my mind. You will wed me because you’re oh so honorable. Thank God above for us both,” she said, sounding anything but thankful. Could he blame her though, given the circumstances they were in, and given that he was not offering words of any love to come. Guilt jabbed him, especially given she didn’t even yet know he intended for them to live apart. “Listen, Frederica, I need to tell you—”
The parlor door banged open and Frederica’s father stormed into the room. “You’ll wed my daughter now, Beckford,” he said. “Or we will meet for that duel.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Frederica.”
Her name in her ear woke her with a start. Frederica jolted up, blinked the sleep from her eyes, and glanced around, unsure for a moment where she was or why her head felt as if someone had stuffed cotton in it.
Gabriel’s gaze met hers through the dancing shadows of the lantern that hung from a nob to light the inside of the carriage. He looked disturbingly, wickedly handsome and withdrawn. Memories pelted her at once. Her quick wedding ceremony, the long wedding dinner where toast after toast was given to her and Gabriel’s happiness. How after each toast, he seemed to draw further away from her, though he was seated right next to her. And then there was the champagne…
She’d never drunk it before, but tonight she’d had two glasses to drown her anxiety and her fear that she was now trapped in a marriage with a man who desired her but did not like her. Or possibly, hopefully, it was more apt to say he did notwantto like her because he still loved his dead wife. While she had been quite sure for some time that she neither wanted nor needed love, she was not as certain now that she was good and wed, and she was most definitely, most absolutely certain that she, at the very least, wanted her husband to like her, accept who she was, and allow her into his world.
“Frederica.”
His deep voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Yes?”
“You’re at your new home.” Gabriel said, rapping on the carriage door, which was immediately opened to reveal his coachman standing at the ready to help them alight from the conveyance.
Something about his words made her frown, and if her blasted thoughts were not so muddled, she would know what immediately. As it was, it took her a moment to pick the sentence apart. When she did, and she got at the heart of its meaning, her air felt suddenly cut off and she had to force a breath. Surely, he could not mean he was putting her in a home in Covent Garden other than his? She had wanted her freedom, but she’d meant freedom to be herself. Not freedom from all ties. No, no. He most definitely could not mean that.
Still, her pulse would not settle. “My new home?”
His gaze settled on her once more. If eyes could have shutters, then Gabriel’s were closed. There was a protective covering that now hid his emotions. “Yes,” he said, raking his hand through his hair, the only indication he was feeling anything at all. “I tried to tell you at your house, before the ceremony, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise—”
