For a moment, Silverton froze as if he’d been hit, and then he’d forced himself to cough, to hide the laughter which threatened to spill out.
Cocking an eyebrow at him, Maeve studied his face suspiciously. “Was that a laugh?”
Hastily, Silverton moved away from her, so as best to hide his response, but Maeve felt sure it was, and it gladdened her heart. There, beneath the surface of her husband’s gruff exterior, was yet another hint at a being who was so much more than he allowed himself to be.
CHAPTER11
Looking back, Silverton concluded he had been wrong to loathe weddings. The day had been perfect. From the presence of his best friend Verne, to the intimate focus on Maeve and him, to the sexual congress in the parlour, and finally to the way they had gorged themselves on the food afterwards—it was precisely the sort of day thetonwould have hated, and he loved.
In the dark, silent night as he’d curled up close to his new bride, he had realised he rather liked this version of himself. The person he was when he was with Maeve. He knew it could not last, but perhaps that was what made it so delicious.
He had decided they would go to Brighton on their honeymoon. It was close enough to London to be convenient, and near to Mr. Walsh and Staplehurst should they need to return quickly. Maeve seemed pleased with this, too, since her sister was also in residence there. His plan, which he had mused on as the carriage carried them away from London, needed to proceed with all haste. If he could seduce Maeve often enough for her to fall pregnant, then the remaining few months of his life could be focused on hunting Charles down.
But step one had to be achieved first. Which meant the new version of himself, one who gave into lust in the afternoon and indulged his wife in any of her whims, came to the fore. Oddly, it was not proving as difficult as Silverton had imagined it would.
On reaching Brighton that afternoon, he had gone along with Maeve’s plan of passing as the bourgeoisie. She had said it would make her feel more at ease, that she was still getting used to being a fine lady, and Silverton decided it rather suited his purposes too.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brennan.” Maeve introduced them to the concierge when they’d arrived at the reasonably fashionable mid-seventeenth century hotel calledThe Royal Artisan. Brennan was his family surname, which was why he had suggested it.
The concierge had ushered them up the stairs and into a modest chamber, promising the other servants would bring up their bags. Maeve rushed to the window to gaze out at the view of the sea.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when Silverton hovered in the doorway. The light of the dull day was of a heavy greyish sort, but it encircled her, framing Maeve beautifully so that she was almost a Madonna shrouded in that glow. Except, Silverton realised, he wanted nothing virginal or holy from his bride.
Fumbling not to voice that idea, Silverton tried to land on something more suitable to say. “The room isn’t very grand.”
The furnishings of the hotel were indeed on the simpler side, with a practical rather than luxurious selection of furniture dotted throughout the bedchamber. The wallpaper was butter yellow and the carpet thick beneath his feet, but otherwise, Silverton could not imagine many of thetonagreeing to stay in such a location. He moved away from the door and to the cellaret. The medicine he was taking from Sprot tasted better if he could supplement it with whisky. Surely if Maeve was to have a proper honeymoon, it should be in a suitably gorgeous hotel?
“We are travelling as the Brennans. A newly married couple, but not one with anything to imply they are connected to the gentry. I rather see you as a lawyer. And I am a daughter of a banker, perhaps. From… Colchester. Yes, we are from nearby families who have known each other for years. And we have everything we need right here.” She walked across to him, easing the glass from his hand, and pulling him into the centre of the room. “This week, I would like to go to a public ball, and when no one is looking, I want to dip my feet into the sea. Does that shock you?”
Unable to resist the giddiness of Maeve’s smile, Silverton began to swing her around. She let out a bright laugh, and he swung her faster, as if he were a country boy and she a girl, and nothing else mattered. That they really might have been childhood sweethearts from Colchester and nothing more. The stiffness in his once injured leg was but a twinge he could ignore as he watched her giggle, as if her happiness was his medicine.
“Are you a good dancer?” he asked as he slowed down and pulled Maeve against his chest. Her quick breath and smiling face were angled up towards his, and Silverton struggled to stop himself from kissing her since the servants would undoubtedly be at the door any moment.
“I’ve had a great many lessons.” She stepped back away from him and released his hands to best demonstrate an elaborate step. “But,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I often had to dance the male parts when I was at school. You see, the girls I taught needed someone to partner with.” She made another movement, and as she did so, she dropped her cloak onto a nearby chair. “And so, it often fell to me.”
“I can promise you that won’t happen when we dance,” Silverton said. It was strange, having always loathed the dancing and balls, but he would be damned if someone else were to stand up with Maeve. Since she wished to go to a public ball, they would go, and he would dance.
“No, that did not seem very likely. Lady Verne informed me that you hate dancing and she had only seen you stand up half a dozen times.”
“Lady Verne cannot command me, not as my wife does.”
“So on the dancefloor, I am to be master?” she asked in a flirtatious manner, swaying nearer to him. It was only the arrival of the servants with their bags that stopped Silverton reaching out for her again.
He realised as she moved through the chamber, directing the servants, how easy it would be to believe the falsehood they were indulging in. To pretend firstly, that he wasn’t dying, and secondly, that they were safe from his brother. It was the latter point that was currently festering through him; he would never know if she was safe from Charles’s machinations. When it was some unknown woman with a blurry face who was to be his bride, it had been too easy for him to imagine what would happen after he died. But now he knew Maeve, the idea of leaving her to be endangered, possibly whilst pregnant, was starting to eat away at him.
God, what an absolute fool he had been. How selfish, short-sighted, and—
“Shall we go out and explore the cobbled streets?”
But what alternative did he have? Besides that, a selfish, needful part of him was rearing its head, and he wanted nothing more than to wander down the quiet, wintry seaside town and buy his wife whatever her heart might desire. He took her proffered hand and led her out of the chamber and towards the streets.
* * *
The public assemblyrooms were surprisingly busy for late January, and the sort that Silverton would have avoided like the plague in any normal circumstances. But in the last ten days, he had discovered that when he was playing Mr. Brennan, there was rather a lot of amusement to be found cavorting through Brighton with his new wife. He had even broken his plans of returning to London and agreed to extend their honeymoon.
Good to her promise, they had snuck down to the seafront and dipped their toes into the icy waters on their second day. They had eaten until they could barely move in their seats at a simple tavern, consumed ices despite the chill, and giggled as the desserts froze their lips. They had gone to a dreadful, tragic play, and halfway through it, Maeve had gotten the giggles so badly they had been asked to leave.
Four days into their honeymoon, Maeve had started her courses, and Silverton had been startled to find himself frantically scouring the local shops for honeycomb chocolate at her request, only to return to their chamber, slip into the bed next to Maeve, and wrap his arms around her. Maeve accepted his embrace and nestled closer, and Silverton was touched she trusted him enough to do so. There was such a depth of warmth and kindness to Maeve that she was fast becoming irresistible to him.
