A Gentleman Never Surrenders Read online

  “Ready for bed, milady?” Constance asked as she turned down Milly’s bed.

  “Yes,” she replied, extremely weary.

  She’d been up since dawn, helping Rowena prepare for the social niceties that would occur tonight and on future nights during her first Season. Rowena had been understandably concerned that she would make a mistake tonight. She hadn’t, of course; she had behaved beautifully. Milly could not have been prouder of her. The handsome Earl of Forres, who’d traveled all the way from Scotland for this house party, had even shown an interest in Rowena. According to Ivy, Forres was recently widowed and the father of a beautiful two-year-old daughter he’d brought down to England. He and his daughter had stayed here for a few weeks with the Dowager Countess of Hampton, who was some distant relation of his.

  “I’ll come check on you in the morning when I bring your tea and scones.” Constance smiled and took her leave.

  Milly climbed onto the bed and pulled the bedclothes up around her chest and sighed. The bed was so large, and rather lonely. Usually she didn’t let such a melancholy thought bother her, but tonight for some reason, it did. There was a dull ache in her chest and she rubbed the spot with her hand. Somewhere tonight, Mr. Hadley was likely climbing into bed, dreaming of all the young ladies’ hearts he would steal and break. A treacherous little flutter in her chest made Milly wince. She ought not to think of Hadley, certainly not while she was in bed…yet thinking of him, as frustrating and maddeningly irritating as he was, flushed her with a welcome heat in the chilly room.

  The oil lamp beside her bed was the only light left in the room and it burned steadily. Often she read late into the night and forgot to turn it off, but tonight she was too tired to read. She reached over and gently twisted the brass knob to kill the little flame. Darkness absorbed the dying light and Milly flipped onto her back. The cold of the sheets almost stung her bare toes and legs when her nightdress rode up to her knees. A cold bed, an empty bed. It shouldn’t have upset her, but after Mr. Hadley’s talk of heat and summer, she was off balance and bothered.

  The mere thought of him and the way his eyes had darkened and seemed to shimmer with inner flames brought on another rush of warmth. His eyes, like honeyed fire, and his lips, the way he’d smiled sardonically, almost mockingly, in a way she rather liked, irritated her, yet fascinated her. There was no reason to like a man’s mouth or to imagine what it might be like to have that mouth pressed to hers in a kiss that caused the heat he was so fond of discussing. She knew his kiss would be hot, because when she thought of it, her body blossomed with a swelling of heat in her belly. His mouth is wicked…sinful…and I hate that I wish to know how he tastes. It was a forbidden thought, but one she couldn’t deny. She rolled over onto her stomach, fluffed her pillow, and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to will herself to sleep. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 3

  Owen paced the length of his bedchamber, wearing light trousers and a dressing gown, but no shirt. His valet, Evans, had come and gone, having helped him undress and put away neckcloths, cuff links, and a hundred other minor details of Owen’s wardrobe. Normally he and Evans would converse at length on any number of topics but tonight he had one thing on his mind.

  Rowena Pepperwirth.

  Such a lovely young lady and perfect for his needs. Even though he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her that evening, he’d seen enough to know he’d happily bed her. He’d asked Evans tonight to discern where his future bride was sleeping. Apparently, she was in the opposite wing, just past the suit of armor on the left.

  Owen checked the clock on the marble mantelpiece above the fireplace in his chamber. Half-past midnight. Surely she was asleep by now. All he needed to do was slip inside her chamber and wait to be “discovered” when Evans found a reason to have Rowena’s mother come to check on her. Stalking over to the door, he cracked it open and peered into the hall. Empty. No servants were within sight and no houseguests either.

  He slipped out of his bedroom and hastily took the route Evans had described. The golden light of the hall lamps and the rich red carpet made the hall feel warm and cheery. It put him in good spirts. This plan was going to work. He paused at reaching the chain-mail knight. His reflection in the shiny helmet was almost comical and he smiled. After tonight his future would be secured; he would have a lovely young bride and Wesden Heath would have a fortune to sustain it. He just hated that he had to secure his home by such dastardly means. He’d tried wooing widows and heiresses the last year with no success. Desperation had driven him to this foolish scheme but he couldn’t turn back.

  Two more steps and he was facing Rowena’s door: the woman who would become his wife, albeit through scandalous measures. But Wesden Heath needed to be protected and supported.

  “You’ve got this, old boy,” he muttered in encouragement, and reached for the door handle. The latch clicked down and the door pushed inward to the darkened room.

  Good. She was asleep. Padding softly into the room, he closed the door behind him. It was impossible to see except for the sliver of light cutting through the thick baize curtains in front of the window. Eventually his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he made out a bed against one wall. Walking carefully over to the window, he swept a hand between the curtains, pushing them apart. Milky moonlight now bathed the bed and its occupant enough to tease Owen with a view of a languidly stretched body with healthy curves. Bedding Rowena once they were married would be a most enjoyable experience, and he would teach the innocent young lady how to seek her own pleasure, too. He wanted his marriage bed to be full of mutual desire and ecstasy. A woman who was well loved in bed made a happy woman out of bed. And he planned to see to his future wife’s happiness once they’d settled in at Wesden Heath.

  Rowena shifted in the bed, sighed, and kicked one leg free of her blankets. Silky white skin made his fingers ache to stroke up from her delicate ankle to her upper thigh. Lord, the temptation to touch her, to take what he wanted, was so strong, but he mastered his control. Rowena suddenly rolled restlessly in his direction and then she gasped.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was a panicked whisper.

  “It is me, Owen, Hadley. I’ve come to—”

  “Mr. Hadley?” The outrage in her tone was surprisingly forceful and her voice was deeper than he remembered, a sensual huskiness of a grown woman, rather than a young woman of eighteen.

  “Rowena.” He paused, unsure of what to say, but she sat bolt upright in bed and fumbled with the wooden nightstand. A rasp of a match and then an oil lamp bloomed, casting a light on the woman in his bed.

  “Good God,” he cursed.

  Mildred, not Rowena, glowered at him, her long dark chestnut hair in a luscious tangle of wild waves about her shoulders. For a moment, he was utterly distracted by the thought of threading his fingers through her hair as he tilted her head back for a kiss.

  “Mr. Hadley, leave my chamber at once before someone sees you.” Mildred only then seemed to realize her nightdress had ridden up her legs and she tugged it down before she slid out of bed. The fabric clung to her more than she expected it to. “Please, Mr. Hadley.”

  Her plea broke through the haze of his building curiosity and desire.

  Right, Mildred, must leave now…Sanity restored itself in rapid fire and he headed for the door. The moment his hand touched the knob, he had to stumble back as it opened. A lady’s maid with a shawl about her shoulders and a lamp in one hand froze upon seeing him.

  “My lady…,” the woman murmured in a hushed sound of shock.

  The situation was far worse than Owen could have predicted. Lady Pepperwirth in her dressing gown and hair unbound, stood just behind the maid, her keen eyes sweeping over Owen and the scene with surprise.

  “Constance said she was informed you’d taken ill, Milly dear,” Lady Pepperwirth said, but her frown said everything her words did not. “It seems it is not an illness that plagues you, but something else.”

  “Mama, M
r. Hadley came here by mistake. He was just leaving—”

  Lady Pepperwirth entered the room and motioned for Constance to come in as well.

  “Silence, Milly. The damage is done. The four of us know what has happened tonight, but we cannot let word spread or else we will have a serious problem.” Lady Pepperwirth turned on Owen. “You, Mr. Hadley, will ask for Milly’s hand tomorrow by speaking with my husband. I will tell him he should accept and the wedding will be done within a few weeks. If anyone asks, you two have had a secret understanding the last year and are now to be married. Is that understood?”

  Owen sputtered. “I…”

  “You’ll be properly compensated, Mr. Hadley. My eldest daughter’s dowry is far larger than Rowena’s is.”

  Could the viscountess read his mind?

  “That is what you were concerned about, was it not?” Lady Pepperwirth’s chilly stare almost made him flinch.

  Owen cleared his throat and nodded. “I will be honored to ask for Miss Pepperwirth’s hand first thing tomorrow.”

  “Good. Now, I suggest we all retire for the night. Many preparations will need to be made on the morrow.” Lady Pepperwirth opened the door and nudged a still-stunned Constance out into the hallway.

  For a long moment, Owen couldn’t move. His mind was blank and he felt as though his feet were rooted to the carpet.

  “What have you done?” Mildred hissed.

  Her chiding tone got under his skin and he spun to face her.

  “I’ve gotten us engaged, that’s what I’ve done, and we cannot get out of it.” He shoved his hands into his robe’s pockets, fuming.

  Mildred walked right up to him and jabbed a finger into his bare chest through the parted robe.

  “You thought I was Rowena. It was her you meant to compromise, wasn’t it?”

  He grasped her wrist, but rather than push her hand away, he held on to it, admiring the soft, warm skin beneath his hand. Her pulse raced wildly at that delicate point on her inner wrist where his fingers curled around it.

  I should let go. But he didn’t. He was staring at her bright blue eyes so full of fire and those soft rosebud lips in a pout that made him want to kiss them, perhaps take a nibble…

  “Hadley, are you listening to me?” She struggled to free her wrist from his hand.

  “Mildred, please, call me Owen. We are to be married.” He tried to bite back a sudden smile at the entire ridiculous situation. Neither of them had wanted this, and he felt damned awful for upsetting Mildred. It was clear she didn’t want to be married and while he didn’t exactly like her, at least in the traditional sense, he didn’t want to upset her. The honest truth was he had destroyed both their lives, but more so hers than his. He’d been ready to marry a stranger—and it was clear Mildred was not—and he hated causing her the pain that he saw in her eyes despite her rising ire.

  He wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare to be married to her or not. He would have to wait and find out. There was something undeniably fascinating about riling Mildred’s temper. Even if he was condemned to marry the harpy, he could at least laugh about it.

  “Fine. Owen. And if you call me Mildred again, I’ll…”

  His lips twitched. “You prefer Milly, then? So do I. Thank heavens we agree on one thing at least.”

  Her feminine huff of displeasure made him chuckle. Just like October and July. They were opposites. What a dreadful match they would make. Yet, since he was doomed, he might as well embrace the absurdity of knowing he would be marrying her in a few weeks.

  “You’ve ruined everything!” Milly snapped, but he saw the glimmer of hurt in her eyes rather than anger. Had she loved another? Was he robbing her of a man she’d intended to marry?

  “Milly, did you…” He swallowed before continuing. “Did you have an understanding with another man?” Why he wanted her to say no he wasn’t sure. The thought of her weeping into a pillow over someone else after she became his was not a pleasant thought, not that he wanted her. He didn’t. He wanted Rowena.

  Milly sighed, a little tear dripping down her right cheek as she pulled her wrist free of his grasp. She walked around him to her bed and sat on the edge, tucking her knees up under her chin like a child.

  “I didn’t want to marry anyone, not like this…” She sniffed and looked up at him. “And now I’m to be stuck with you.” She waved a hand at him and then sniffed again, her eyes too bright, too full of tears. Had he ever believed Milly Pepperwirth capable of crying? No, he hadn’t. She’d always been this bastion of female spinsterdom to him. Beautiful, but cold and untouchable. Who was this teary-eyed beauty who lit an unwelcome yet undeniable fire in his blood?

  He was moving before he was aware of it. He eased down beside her on the bed and cupped her chin, turning her face toward his.

  “Milly, I’m sorry I’ve done this to you, to both of us.” He meant it. They were stuck with each other and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve this fate and he was a coward for compromising her like this and forcing her into it. The hard lump in his throat made it hard to breathe for a moment.

  Her long lashes fluttered, tears coating her lips like tiny crystals. This wasn’t the angry woman from dinner earlier that evening; this woman was vulnerable and oddly beautiful despite her eyes reddened with tears. His chest tightened as he faced the fact that he had made her weep. Owen couldn’t help but wonder if her aloof act was truly that, an act.

  “Then don’t go see my father tomorrow. Just leave. I’ll not tell a soul what happened.”

  He shook his head. “The damage is done.” He shifted a few inches closer, his hand on her chin sliding around to cup her cheek. Her skin was soft as silk and he half closed his eyes as he fixed on her lips. He had the sudden urge to taste her, a woman he couldn’t stand.

  “Let me kiss you,” he begged in a ragged whisper. Swept away by a surge of desire, he wanted to taste this woman’s lips to see how fiery she was when she wasn’t verbally sparring with him.

  “What?” She blinked in surprise and drew back an inch.

  Every predatory instinct in him took over and he dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers, light enough for her to still withdraw or to lean forward. Her mouth trembled against his and he felt her lean in, just a bare quarter inch. He curled his fingers around the back of her neck and held her still for his plundering kiss. He tasted her, teased her lips, and stroked the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth. A soft little throaty sound escaped Milly and he wanted to crow in triumph as she kissed him back. The lady could be seduced after all!

  It took a surprising amount of willpower for him to separate their mouths. He rested his forehead against hers and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs as they shared panting breaths.

  “I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I am sorry.” He kissed her again, this time on her cheek, and exited the room before she could say another word or shed another tear that he would see.

  Chapter 4

  Three weeks later. Three long weeks later, Milly was standing at the altar of a small church in the village outside of Pepperwirth Vale, her family’s home. Owen stood next to her, dressed in his finest morning dress, which should have made the man look respectable but all it did was make him look wicked, in a way that would leave all the ladies in the pews behind her green with envy.

  They’d spent the three weeks leading up to this moment in each other’s company on an almost daily basis and she was coming to learn that he wasn’t as heartless as she thought he was, but it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be here at the altar facing a life with this man. Even though he did make a fine groom…

  Blast it! I don’t even want him as my husband. I don’t.

  Owen glanced her way, one dark brow raised as though he’d heard her wildly inappropriate thoughts.

  “It’s time for the ring,” he whispered loud enough for only her to hear.

  A silly blush flushed her cheeks as she held out her gloved hand. They were specially made bridal
gloves where the silk on the ring finger could be removed, her ring placed on, and the silk drawn back over it. Owen did all of this methodically, but a second before he slid the band on her finger, his hand shook and he nearly dropped it. As the band settled against her skin and he gingerly slid the silk fingerlet back on, they shared a sigh of relief, and for one single instant they shared a smile, too, a small, fatigued one, but shared nonetheless. Strangely, in that moment, she didn’t feel alone. They were both facing this life together.

  The remainder of the ceremony was a blur. Milly had Rowena and Ivy as her bridesmaids and they took great care to arrange her long cream silk train as she was prepared to walk down the aisle. Owen waited patiently, his forearm held out toward her. She glanced at it, then up at him. He gave her the barest hint of a nod in encouragement. The last thing she wanted was to touch him—she was still furious with him—but she felt a little light-headed and her tulle veil seemed to weigh heavily on her head. Having something solid to grip would help.

  Her fingers curled around his arm, clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes, please just do not let me trip,” she begged him. The voluminous skirts of her lovely gown were far more fabric than she was used to, and given how frantic her heart was beating made her feel unsteady on her feet.

  “I’ve got you.” Owen’s body was warm and hard beside her own, which was an unexpected but welcomed comfort. He covered her hand on his arm with his free hand, patting it gently.

  At least in this we are united, she thought.

  They walked down the aisle together, stepping over a trail of rose petals as they headed to the entrance of the church. There would be a light meal taken by her family and Owen before they would leave for his estate. Wesden Heath. She knew so little of the man she’d married. Her husband. How strange the word felt on her tongue. All she knew was that his lands were nestled somewhere in the small region of the Cotswolds.