Silverton seemed to dwell on her words for a moment, and then he spoke, “You know, madam, you never said you would be predictable.”
“That does not sound very complimentary.”
“It was more of an observation.”
Maeve allowed her disappointment to settle on her shoulders. She had not expected a love match, that much was clear. But from his kiss and the feel of his body, she had hoped they had more in common than either of them expected, and they would grow to know each other well, even if it was only for a brief time. But Silverton did not want her for that—he might kiss her as if fire burnt through them, but he was nothing more than a cold bastard—and she had better remember that. The thought chilled her completely and made tears well in her eyes at what she had agreed to.
* * *
When the carriagearrived at the grand, imposing Belgravia townhouse that she was to live in going forward, Maeve let out a gasp. She stared at the imposing shape of her new home before she was hurriedly ushered up the steps and through the front door. Despite the lateness of the hour, Maeve was all too aware that if a location could be designed to remind her of how out of place she was, then this building would be it. Inside the large house, the butler bowed to her and was introduced to her as Danes.
“Very good, my lord.” Danes bowed to her stiffly. His judgemental expression said more than his words. He considered Maeve dubiously, as if he could not quite believe the viscount’s choice of future bride, then turned back to Silverton. “I will show your lady up to her ladyship’s bedchamber and fetch Betty to see to her needs. Mrs. Lam will be informed, too, as will the rest of the staff.”
“Thank you, but I won’t have anyone beyond the household know about my future wife’s presence. Is that understood?”
“Of course, as you say, my lord.” Danes nodded and gestured for Maeve to follow him. Before she could depart the hallway in Danes’s wake, however, Silverton’s hand shot out, and he grabbed her elbow.
“My final request is that we begin our arrangement immediately.” His fingers were tense on the sleeve of her dress, and his dark eyes were watching Maeve expectantly.
A wave of shock rolled through her as his words hit her—he wanted her to go to bed with him. This evening. But she reasoned she shouldn’t be that surprised. Wasn’t it supposed to be a marriage of convenience? A trade of sorts, and her part of it was the offering of her body to him. Maeve shivered despite the fact she wasn’t cold anymore.
“You wish to make love tonight?” Her voice was so low, she was surprised Silverton even heard her, and she was grateful that Danes was no longer close enough to hear her fiancé ask this of her. Angry embarrassment swelled up in her chest. She should not have kissed him with such enthusiasm in the carriage; he was making unfair assumptions about her virtue.
“That is correct,” Silverton said. “I think it wise that we waste no time in pursuing an opportunity of finding…” He paused, his jawline beneath the beard tensing before he continued, “Of getting you with child. The sooner you are pregnant, the better for both of us.”
CHAPTER7
The rest of the London townhouse was now quiet, the servants having been dismissed to their own bedrooms, and his supposed wife was next door, secluded in the viscountess’s chamber. No one had slept in there since his mother last came to town, and that hadn’t been for a decade. Still, his staff knew enough to keep the bedchamber aired and clean. Musing on the other side of the adjoining door, Silverton started to pace as he awaited Maeve’s arrival.
The decision to ask Maeve to start their marital duties tonight had been done for practical reasons. That was what he wanted to focus his mind on. The fact that he had thoroughly enjoyed kissing Maeve was beside the point. Also, he reasoned the sooner he bedded her, the sooner that novelty would be done with, and he would not feel like such an untested schoolboy in her presence.
His bedroom had been decorated with an elaborateness that Silverton had agreed to a few summers ago, mainly to ensure that several weapons could be placed in useful locations throughout his home. The overall effect was not really to his liking but gave the impression of his being a well-to-do lord. The hand-painted silk wallpaper was gaudy, he thought, and the delicate twee-style furniture would have been better suited to an elderly matron like his mother.
Still, the chamber, which Danes had lit with a dozen candles, was the sort of moss-green colour that would perfectly play off Maeve’s auburn tresses. The creamy plush linings of the armchairs and settee would suit her skin tone to perfection. Almost as if, he ruminated, this bedroom had been designed for her beguiling presence.
Bloody hell—where had that rogue idea come from? At this rate, he’d be writing sonnets to the blasted woman, and he hadn’t even bedded her yet.
Casting aside his overcoat onto the nearest available armchair, Silverton moved away from the viscountess’s door. He would not be so gauche as to be caught waiting for Maeve’s arrival, as if he needed her.
What sort of man demanded a lady come to his room as soon as possible? Perhaps he really had become a cold-hearted bastard over the years, in truth rather than just in reputation. How dare he treat her so? Especially when he’d behaved so poorly, been so ungentlemanly towards her, stated that he would never see her as anything more than a way to secure an heir. He was still somewhat amazed she had agreed. But then, she was a vulnerable young woman. He felt a wave of embarrassment for his treatment of her.
“Stop it,” he said bitterly to himself. A nagging tension lingered between his thick eyebrows. Lifting a hand, he started to rub at his forehead. He had to be ruthless; there was only a limited amount of time left to him.
A year was the most he had, Dr. Sprot had told Silverton. If he were able to get Maeve with child tonight, he might even have a chance to see the babe itself. The thing that was bothering him was not his own death; he would not let himself think of that. No. Silverton would avoid such pointless thoughts. It would just be self-indulgence on his part.
His mind turned to how she had reacted to their first kiss. Maeve’s arms had wrapped around him, her fingers clutching his hair, pulling him tightly against her body. It was a lifetime since he had been held so by an attractive female.
He had not appreciated her appeal at first. Her auburn hair was not of the fashionable sort, but he’d be damned if he could think of any high society ladies, or indeed any women of his acquaintance, he would have preferred to embrace him so, to sink his hands amongst their curls, and yank them close.
God, did he even remember the name of the last woman he had tupped? The female’s features were blank, and her name had slipped like water from his mind. If he had known it in the first place. There was a sharp irony to such a thought, given his proposal to Maeve. Theirs was a business arrangement.
No one in his society would claim that Silverton was one to cling to anything sentimental, so why had he embarked on such a foolhardy course of action? After all, having a baby was the most intimate of acts. Silverton had learnt it was better not to get attached, and any intimacy without closeness felt hollow, the kind that was bartered and traded. That was one of the reasons he had realised he wanted Maeve tonight. If they made love now, without any more emotional connections built, the physical aspect of their agreement could remain strictly professional.
Closing his eyes, Silverton let out an aggrieved sigh. Those were the rationale and the reasons he gave himself when the truth was simpler: An almost barbaric lust had pumped through his body as he had kissed Maeve. And he wanted her. Desperately. In a way, it was nice for something to be simply acknowledged for what it was. Desire.
As if called by the turn of his thoughts, there was a shift to the left of him and Silverton turned to see her.
Despite everything, Maeve had come to his bedchamber.
