The Theory of Earls - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,73

she is.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.

“I had no expectations. No illusions. I knew what you were.”

“And what am I, Maggie?” he said in a deceptively quiet tone.

“A rake. A libertine. Then you had to go and play Chopin.”

“I’m not the one who left the conservatory door open, Maggie.”

She sucked in a gulp of air, shocked at his inference. “I wanted to marry Carstairs. You were playing—”

He flicked a piece of lint off his coat. “Christ, I’m so tired of hearing how you prefer that dimwit to me. And on our wedding day.”

“Bloody Chopin.” She finished, taking a gulp of air, her breasts pushing painfully against the tight constraints of her bodice. “Wait—what?”

Welles was staring at her with such savage possessiveness that Margaret took a step back.

“I said, I am sick to death of hearing of your preference for Carstairs. Because he’s kind. Pleasant. Stupid. So you could walk all over him.” He moved to stand over her, a large, angry male, who unbelievably, had decided she belonged to him. Under different circumstances, she would have been…a bit thrilled with his declaration.

She stared at him, frozen in place by his words.

“Unfortunately for you, Maggie, I am none of those things.”

His forefinger reached out, lingering over the tops of her breasts, pausing only to dip below the delicate lace to circle one nipple.

Margaret gasped, hating the way her body immediately arched toward him, a low hum starting between her thighs at his touch.

He removed his finger, pausing only to brush the lace at her bodice. “Lest you think to demand the vicar not perform the marriage, you should know that I’ve apprised your aunt of how I debauched you well before my stepmother’s ball and took your virtue. I’ve also informed the duchess. I may have let such a thing slip in my conversation to Carstairs just the other day.” He shrugged and took her elbow.

Margaret’s mouth popped open in shock. “You—” A flush crept up her cheeks, mortified. She would never be able to look the duchess in the eye again. “Bastard.” She tried to pull her arm free.

“No, that is the other brother, the one you aren’t marrying. Pay attention, Maggie.” He dragged her back into the drawing room.

Margaret continued to swat at him, startling the vicar. Leo was smiling. Aunt Agnes moved forward to pinch her, and Welles made a low growl.

Her aunt stepped back so swiftly she stumbled over the chair leg.

“Now that we’ve cleared things up,” he said, nodding to all of them before addressing the vicar, “you may begin.”

Margaret barely heard a word of the ceremony. A mounting sense of despair filled her along with a great deal of anger. She didn’t want to marry Welles under these circumstances. Aunt Agnes seemed the only one in the drawing room to be even remotely pleased, although Leo didn’t look put out.

Her soon to be brother-in-law cleared his throat and gave her a nudge.

“I will,” she said automatically.

Welles made a sign of irritation at her having to be prompted to respond before settling a large square-cut diamond onto her finger. The weight of the ring was heavy, the band far too large. Her fingers immediately curled into a fist, wishing she were taller so she could punch him right on his perfect nose.

Welles brushed a perfunctory kiss on her lips, prompting a spark down the length of her traitorous body.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Margaret found herself sitting in the same well-appointed carriage Welles had first propositioned her in a lifetime ago. The same one she’d ridden in after their night together at Elysium.

Only now, Welles was her husband.

28

That could have gone better.

Tony’s temples ached, mostly from the overabundance of scotch he’d had the night before. Scotch had helped him come to terms with a variety of current issues, namely marrying Miss Margaret Lainscott. Having to endure the company of Lady Dobson, more greedy and conniving than he’d given her credit for, only added to the dull ache in his head. He had been assured by his solicitors that the sum settled upon Maggie’s aunt would keep her away. Lady Dobson hadn’t spared Winthrop a thought before agreeing to Tony’s terms.

Tony rubbed his forehead while taking in the cause of this entire mess. His wife.

She had chosen to ignore him since their heated discussion in the parlor after Tony had explained he’d informed all concerned her virtue was no longer intact. The look on her face had been priceless. He couldn’t have her balking as their

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