Page 13 of Madcap with a Marquess
Which meant she needed to make the best of this marriage. To see if a man existed beneath the outer guise his odious mother had so meticulously constructed. To see if there was anything Lord Rutledge could feel for her that wasn’t disapproval. And Franny had a fortnight—hopefully—before his mother’s influence came sweeping back in.
The first order of business was consummation. Her main obligation as a wife was to submit to marital duties, fulfill her husband’s desires, and provide him with heirs. Especially considering the circumstances of their marriage—contractual. She wasn’t truly certain she served any other purpose in this marriage. Which was a depressing enough thought. But. If she excelled in that area…then perhaps that could lead to something that resembled happiness, whether it was tolerance or friendship or more.
However, her husband needed to bepresentfor said—
A key rattled in the lock, and the door slowly swung open. Franny hastily put down her wineglass and jumped up from her chair. Lord Rutledge stepped lightly into the room and silently shut the door. He turned, caught sight of her, and went rigid.
“I—I thought you would be sleeping.”
She didn’t feel any disappointment at that statement. None whatsoever. She nearly laughed.Oh, Franny, will your heart never learn?Who knows? Perhaps this man would be the one to finally break it so thoroughly it couldn’t recover.
Franny stepped out into the middle of the room, her pale ivory night dress drifting around her ankles. “I couldn’t sleep.”
A lie. She was very nearly about to fall asleep. But she was trying one last time at getting herself a wedding night. She was nothing if not determined. And a challenge fueled that fire inside her. She was fairly certain that was the only reason she’d survived the first twenty years of her life. Steadfast in her resolve to spite her father. Pure stubborn grit to prove she could not be cowed, be broken. On the days that resolve deserted her—she shook away the dark thoughts—Franny’s mind was not a place anyone wanted to be on those days.
Lord Rutledge’s gaze traveled over her, and he swallowed. Patted his thigh. He was nervous, acting like she was an armed enemy and not his wife adorned solely in a nightdress.
“What on earth are you wearing?”
Her brows snapped together. He sounded like he’d swallowed a frog. And what was she wearing? She glanced down. Did he disapprove of her night rail? She gripped the skirts, twisting them tight about her legs as she fidgeted. She looked up at Lord Rutledge, his gaze locked on her hips, that mottled blush from earlier blooming on his cheeks again. She glanced down. At the dark shadow the curls at the apex of her thighs made through thesheerfabric. She instantly let go of her dress.
“Urm, this is my night dress. I know it’s rather worn and quite simple, but my father didn’t deem it prudent for me to buy anything new for my trousseau.”
She chewed her lip. He clenched and released his fists, then he shook out his hands, his gaze locked on her chest the entire time. He’d divested himself of his black topper, and his thick brown curls were in disarray. His sharp, rectangular jaw worked as he swallowed convulsively. He was swallowing a lot. She cocked her head. That didn’t seem normal. He tapped his leg twice, his eyes glued to her bosom.
Well, she could work with that. Men liked breasts. And they liked to touch them. Unfortunately, they believed they could even without said woman’s permission. But she was definitely giving this man permission. She casually reached behind herself, interlocked her hands, and stretched her arms, pushing her chest out.
His sharp inhale cut through the room. His lids lowered, shadowing his warm brown eyes. He abruptly shook his head, his rich brown curls bouncing over his brow. He never could tame those unruly curls, much to his dismay. She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile. She’d always secretly liked his curls. Perhaps because they refused to be as pretentious as their owner.
“You are indecent,” he bit out, his voice tight and sharp. “You should be wearing a robe.”
She arched a single brow and crossed her arms. She may have pushed her breasts up in the process. “We are about to go to bed. Putting a robe on seems like a step in the wrong direction. We are to consummate the marriage…are we not?”
A choking sound came from him.
“Are you well, Lord Rutledge?”
“I-I… Everything is fine. I won’t be making any demands of you tonight. It was a hard day of travel. We will wait to consummate the marriage until we arrive at the estate. An inn room is no place… It’ll be best if we wait. You should get in bed. And cover yourself. And douse the candles.”
Well, now this was becoming ridiculous. They were to sleep in the same bed and not consummate the marriage? A fuzzy, heated agitation coursed through her. She was anything but tired now. She jutted out her chin. She had him in a bedchamber, and she was taking. Him. To. Bed.
“But won’t you need light to prepare for bed, my lord?” she asked sweetly.
He turned and shucked off his coat. “I will be fine without any light,” he called over his shoulder.
“I will leave one burning…just in case.”
“Yes, fine, just cover yourself.”
Oh, she would cover herself all right. Franny marched over to the bed and pulled back the covers, glancing discreetly at him. He shrugged out of his waistcoat and laid it neatly on the corner of the dressing table. What did he wear to bed? There was no way he did something so scandalous as sleepin thenude.
He splashed water over his face, and Franny quickly shrugged out of her nightdress. She glanced down at her naked breasts and grinned. She couldn’t wait to see what Pompous Perty thought of these up close and personal. She slid under the covers and pulled them over her shoulders until she was completely concealed.
Two heavy thumps sounded, and Franny’s attention drifted back to her husband. No boots, no stockings, his back to her as he pulled his shirt from his breeches. She waited with bated breath. What’s underneath the shirt, Lord Rutledge? He paused. And didn’t remove his shirt.Well, that’s disappointing.
“Are you covered?”
“Yes, my lord.” It wasn’t acompletefalsehood.
