There was a decided spring to his step as he led Midge out into the sunshine, towards the carriage that waited to take them back to Mount Street. He felt more like himself than he had since setting foot back in England.
London Society was foreign territory to him; that was the trouble.
Until his older brother had died, he had existed almost exclusively in what was very much a man’s world. First school, then army barracks and the officer’s mess, where he had earned the respect of his subordinates and made friends where he felt some connection.
He had not wanted to leave the Army any more than his father had wanted to see him step into his brother’s shoes. He had left Shevington as much to escape the feeling he would never measure up to the earl’s favoured firstborn, as to appear to be obeying his edict to find a wife.
But the husband hunters had come out in droves the moment he had arrived in town, anyway. He had been appalled by all the posturing and simpering, the sly yet cutthroat competition between girls who pretended to be friends with each other.
Nothing he did ever managed to shake them off. The more obnoxious he made himself, the more obsequious everyone became.
Except Midge. She had detested that fop, the version of Viscount Mildenhall he had created, almost as much as he did.
Well, everyone would call her Viscountess Mildenhall from now on, but he could not see the acquisition of a title changing her one little bit. Just as, he suddenly saw, nothing had ever managed to dent Hal Carlow’s sense of the ridiculous, not even his recent promotion to major.
Just because he had suddenly acquired a title, it did not mean he had to strive to be something he was not. Today she had called him Monty. No, she called Monty back to life. He had barked out orders, Rick had snapped to attention, and he and Hal had experienced a moment of perfect camaraderie.
Gaining a title was only like getting a promotion of sorts. He was the same man inside that he had always been.
It felt as though a weight rolled off his shoulders as he made the decision to take a leaf out of Midge’s book. He was going to stay true to himself, and to hell with everyone else’s expectations!
Thank God he had run into Rick Bredon! And that he had, against all the odds, managed to get Midge to the altar.
It was only as he handed her into his carriage and he noted the dejected slump to her shoulders, that the massive discrepancy between their attitudes towards this marriage hit him all over again.
‘This has not been the wedding day you must have wanted,’ he acknowledged, climbing in and sitting next to her. ‘But it can only get better from here on in, I promise.’
She had not wanted to marry him; he accepted that now. She had gone through with what she saw as her duty to her family. And she had done so with her head held high.
Damn, but he was going to make sure she never regretted marrying him! And he was going to start by wiping all thought of that other man right out of her head. He took her chin in his hand, put his arm round her shoulder, and declared, ‘I am going to kiss you now. And this time, you will not slap my face. Or bite me. Unless,’ he mused, ‘it is like this.’ And he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nibbled at it.
She gave a shocked gasp, giving him the opportunity to thrust his tongue into her mouth.
She did not struggle. On the contrary, after only a brief moment of tension, she melted under his determined seduction like butter on a summer’s day.
He knew he had not imagined her response to his kisses out on Lady Carteret’s terrace! If he had not been in such a foul mood, if he had not insulted her…
He groaned, and tugged her onto his lap. There was a loud ripping noise. He glanced down to see that his boot was still firmly planted on a portion of material that had come away from the hem of her gown. He tensed.
Most women, he knew, would have berated him for his clumsiness. Midge only sighed as she assessed the damage, before tilting her face towards him again.
‘I will buy you another,’ he vowed swiftly, taking ruthless advantage of the last interlude of privacy they were likely to get before nightfall.
Midge sank down onto the chair before the dressing table and stared in shock at her reflection. No wonder Monty had suggested she ought to go upstairs and freshen up before greeting their guests. She looked the complete antithesis of what a Society bride should be. Her hair was all over the place, her gloves were beyond redemption, and she was going to have to take off the beautiful dress her aunt had somehow managed to conjure up for this day. As for her bouquet: it was no more than a memory. It had already been coming apart before it got crushed between them as he had pulled her onto his lap. And when he had lifted her out of the carriage and set her on her feet, she had been too stunned from those few minutes of untrammelled passion to do more than blink up at him as the broken stems and crushed blooms rained down to the pavement.
Pansy had taken one look at her and run straight to the pile of trunks at the foot of her bed, bless her.
‘It was not all my fault,’ she began to explain, but Pansy was too busy pulling out dresses to determine which was the least creased, to pay attention.
The maid probably would not believe that a man as fastidious about his own appearance would have so casually reduced her to this state anyway, not when she had come home with her things in like condition so many times before.
Though he had looked far less flamboyant than usual, today, now she came to think of it. Even more soberly dressed than he had been on the night they had met at the theatre.
Pansy, having made her selection, bustled up to her and unbuttoned the back of her gown, while Midge pulled off her soiled gloves.
Changing into a clean gown was the least of her worries. Once Pansy had made her look respectable again, she was going to have to go downstairs and face all those guests, having just turned what should have been a solemn and sacred occasion into something resembling a farce.
She disappeared under layers of satin and lace as Pansy pulled the ruined gown over her head, and emerged with scarlet cheeks. When she thought of the way Viscount Mildenhall had practically frogmarched her down the aisle!
Though, to give him credit, he had hung on to his temper until then. In fact, he had been surprisingly sympathetic to her, all things considered. He had not automatically sided with her uncle over the question of Stephen. He had even sent Rick to investigate. And he had promised they would discuss it all later.
Once the wedding breakfast was over.
Her stomach did a little somersault at the prospect of being alone with him again. The episode in the coach had been such a staggering surprise. She had never experienced anything like it!
Except—she frowned as Pansy stood her up to lace her into her fresh gown—for a few fleeting moments during their tussle on Lady Carteret’s terrace.
As Pansy pushed her down onto the stool again and set about her rioting curls with a hairbrush, she wondered if he had been attempting to…not punish her. Discipline her, perhaps? He had given her some kind of warning about her behaviour before he had begun to ravish her mouth, but for the life of her she could not remember exactly what he had said.
Though he had definitely been trying to punish and humiliate her at Lady Carteret’s. It was only some perversity in her nature that had made her revel in such rough