Page 56 of Sinfully Wed
Jordan tapped his fingers along one thigh. “Did you read that in one of those dreadful pamphlets I’ve seen sold on the streets? Tamsin has a collection now. She shares your appreciation for oddities and strange crimes, though not the truly gruesome ones. I’ve no intention of tossing you into the Thames.”
“But you do intend to inform me what I can expect as your wife, do you not? I suppose an asylum makes the most sense. The sort where they put the criminally insane. I’ll be keeping rats as pets. Loraine Dunkirk did when her husband locked her away. Trained the rats in her cell to perform tricks. She eventually stabbed two of the orderlies with a fork.”
“Can you not pick up a book of poetry? Possibly a romance of some sort?”
“Boring. I blame my cousin. He took me to see a two-headed snake when I was a child.”
“The Duke of Ware.” Jordan tried to imagine that bear of a man as a child with Odessa trotting behind him, plucking insects out of the bushes and showing her a snake. “I made his acquaintance at Lady Curchon’s.”
Her brows lifted, surprised Jordan had met the duke. “His Grace isn’t really my cousin; we aren’t blood relations. But he is as odd as I am, something we both realized when we were children. He dislikes being a duke.”
“He mentioned as much to me.”
“At any rate, I developed a taste for oddities after that snake. We also visited a farmer who owned a goat with only one eye a few years later. My fascination for the grotesque was firmly formed. I’ve no actual talents, so I collect the strange here.” She tapped on her temple and shrugged, turning once more to the view outside. “Separate lives, I think. Justified, my lord. I deceived you. I’m what politely is referred to as eccentric. And I did consider compromising myself with Captain Phillips to avoid marriage to you.”
“You reconsidered after I pointed out his thin arms, didn’t you?”
Her lips pursed. “I never told him about the German baker, or the two-headed snake. Or any of those other terrible stories I adore so much. It’s possible he wouldn’t have wanted to wed me either.” A resigned puff of air left her.
“I did not call upon you today to—chastise you. I wanted to—offer an apology for my behavior.”
“Apologize.” She stared at him, incredulous.
“I lost my temper, something I rarely do. The headmaster at Harrow, if he is still there, would tell you differently.”
“I provoked you.”
“But others have said far worse.” Jordan thought her beautiful, sitting across from him, with that curl of honey trailing along her skin. Arousal trailed over his thighs, making his cock lengthen and twitch. “I am sorry for spewing out such bitterness on to you. You didn’t deserve it. I promise not to do so again.”
She nodded, the curl bouncing gently against her cheek. “Your apology is accepted, my lord.”
“I thought you might like to guide me through Madame Tussauds’ bloodthirsty exhibit. Regale me with stories of gruesome death. Relate to me what the poor victims of the guillotine ate before having their heads leave their bodies. I’ll consider it penance.” He didn’t bother to tell her he’d gone there once solely to catch her, undisguised.
“I see.” A tiny smile lifted her mouth, causing Jordan’s pulse to beat wildly. “You don’t have a weak stomach, do you, my lord?”
“I endured onions, garlic, and tar. A trunk-like figure that reminded me of a forest troll. Raised pigs and butchered them myself. I believe I can tolerate an afternoon of wax with you.” Another wave of longing for this strange creature struck him, curling along his waist and making him grateful his coat covered the worst of it.
“I am sorry, my lord.” There was a sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Truly. I—didn’t know.”
Not for their argument at Lady Curchon’s, he realized, but for Dunnings. For Jordan having to raise pigs. Bentley. The death of Jordan’s mother. All of it. He wondered if Odessa knew that Angus Whitehall had beggared the previous Earl of Emerson and blackmailed the current. Something told Jordan she didn’t.
“For your poor disguise?” He didn’t want to discuss the past. Nor did he want her sympathy. “Youshouldbe ashamed Odessa. Anyone with sense could see right through your scheme.”
“Jordan,” she murmured, his name on her lips rippling down between his thighs. Her hand shot out and touched his knee.
Dear God.
He was going topounceon her. Maybe Miss Maplehurst should have come.
“When I was a lad,” he stopped her, hearing the patrician accent he tried so hard to maintain, slip to the rolling of near Scots. “We performed plays for my mother. I may have mentioned it before, but you were consumed with burping onion at me and might not have listened.”
Another smile flitted along her delicious mouth.
“Aurora was little more than a baby, so she didn’t get to play many parts. Mostly she laid on a blanket and cried. And the twins, Malcolm and Drew, weren’t much better. Which left me and Tamsin to take over most of the roles. I was a witch in the Scottish play—” At her look of confusion he clarified. “MacBeth.” Jordan lowered his voice to a whisper. “No actor worth his salt ever mentions the play by name. Bad luck and all that. Mother refused to name it, though she adored Shakespeare’s words. That’s where I learned about the various uses of tar and padding. I had a wart.” He tapped his upper lip. “Affixed right here.”
“I never fooled you.” A wistful, soft smile broke across her lips, striking Jordan firmly in the chest.
“At first. My—dislike of the situation—”
