How to Wed a Baron. Кейси Майклс
of one small female.
I don’t recall granting it permission to sit down.
At last he smiled with real amusement…and not a little bemusement. Yes, that was it. From the moment she’d uttered those words, he had become as wax in her hands.
God help him….
CHAPTER THREE
ALINA SAT CROSS-LEGGED in the middle of the hard tester bed, her sketchbook across her knees. She’d been so certain the baron would come knocking on her door to inquire as to why she had refused to join him downstairs for dinner. But when the clock had struck the hour of nine, she had at last given up on her fetching outfit of palest lilac silk in favor of a comfortable night rail she’d worn to the brink of shabbiness.
She only wished she hadn’t used the excuse that she wasn’t hungry in order to avoid him, for now her stomach had begun grumbling at her, pointing out that, if she was going to lie, she should first consider the consequences. Citing a headache from the excitement of seeing England for the first time? That would have been much better.
Except that the baron might have interpreted that as excitement upon seeing him for the first time.
That eventuality was not to be contemplated. The man was already entirely too pleased with himself just on general principles—that was obvious.
“And much too intelligent for my own good,” she muttered, her charcoal stick moving rapidly as she colored in the man’s hair, which was nearly as dark as her own. His skin was darker than hers; he was clearly a man who spent considerable time in the sun—she’d noticed as much when he’d taken her hand in his and bowed over her fingertips. He had hard hands, strong and even slightly callused, which had surprised her, for he certainly dressed (and behaved!) as a man who never so much as brushed his own hair without assistance.
She could still close her eyes and see her pale skin against his darker tones, her fragile bones no match for his strength if he were to squeeze her fingers between his. And she most certainly could still see those laughing, mocking green eyes.
He really did upset her sense of being up to any challenges her new circumstances could toss at her. She’d been so sure of her plans, back in the safety of her own bedchamber. And all it had taken was one look, one too-intimate touch of this man’s flesh against hers, to knock all of her confident pins out from beneath her. Oh, yes, he was going to be trouble….
Just to think—if she had worn gloves, as Danica had told her was proper, she would still not know that her betrothed had such an unsettling effect on her. Why, she might have gone down to dinner, prattled on in some inane way, all unaware that Baron Justin Wilde was anything more than a pretty fellow with an impertinent mouth.
Now what was she supposed to do? If there existed a way to control him, she had to find it. Quickly.
Strange how she had not thought about the marriage itself as anything more than a minor inconvenience, a necessary detail. At first, she’d been too angry to do more than think about being bartered away by the king, being forced to leave her home. But once her aunt had explained that a marriage of mutual convenience was all she could look forward to in any event, thanks to her birth and station—and had pointed across the king’s drawing room to where Count Josef Eberharter stood picking at his yellowed teeth with a penknife and declared the man to be Alina’s only alternative—the idea of traveling to England, to the birthplace of her mother, had begun to seem a reasonable alternative.
Her mother had told so many stories about her homeland, and always with such a wistful look in her eyes. Now she, her mother’s daughter, would see all the glorious sights herself. First London, of course, as everyone with any sense wished to visit this great metropolis. But then she would travel to Kent, and to her mother’s childhood home. Wouldn’t they all be surprised and delighted to welcome the daughter of their beloved and lost Anne Louise?
She cocked her head to one side and contemplated the now-completed sketch. Had she captured the correct degree of astonishment in his lordship’s entirely too-wise eyes as he looked cross-eyed at the fat fish tail sticking out of his wide-open mouth?
“Oh, my lady,” Tatiana said, leaning across the mattress to goggle at the sketch. “That’s even better than the last one. Danica, come see.”
“Humph,” the older woman snorted, staying where she was, busying herself with laying out Alina’s freshly pressed traveling outfit for the morning, a lovely thing of midnight-blue and military gold frogging, and a shako hat that was made to tilt forward above the lady’s right eye just so. “Horns and a tail? I see nothing so amusing in poking fun at one’s betrothed. You should only be thanking the Virgin for his handsome face and body. He could have been sixty, and fat and filthy into the bargain.”
“I’d rather he was eighty, and with one foot teetering over the grave, too crippled with gout and dissipated by drink to worry about such things as his new wife,” Alina said truthfully, for she saw nothing wrong with wishful thinking. “What am I supposed to do with a man no older than Luka? What will he want from me?”
Tatiana giggled, putting her pudgy hands to her mouth. “Should we tell her, Danica?”
“That is the job of the husband, and not for us to say. It is proper for a lady of breeding not to know—”
“About breeding?” Tatiana quipped, and then covered her smile with her hand.
“You have never been amusing, Tatiana Klammer,” the dresser said, turning her back to the woman, who promptly stuck her tongue out at her.
Alina sighed. It had been thus ever since they’d begun their journey, the two women always jabbing at each other, the dresser believing her position to be higher than that of mere paid companion, the companion believing the dresser was altogether too full of herself. She had begun to wish Danica had not accompanied them to England, for the woman was stiff, humorless and full of rules.
Plus, she clearly didn’t like her new mistress, something Alina couldn’t understand, because everyone liked her. Well, perhaps not Aunt Mimi, definitely not Aunt Mimi. But everyone else.
She closed the sketchbook and put it to one side. “That is not what I meant, Danica,” she said testily. “I don’t know if he will want my company and conversation, or if he will ignore me for the most part, as I hope, and allow me to go my own way. I already know he will kiss me and give me babies. My mama explained that to me years ago. It’s the only way to get babies. I asked her, and she told me. I am…resigned to that.”
As her mother had been dead these past three years, it could be wondered just how specific the lady had been with her explanations.
The way Danica rolled her eyes as she turned about once more, Alina now wondered exactly that herself.
“What? What did I say that is so impossible that you made that terrible face?”
“Danica means nothing, my lady,” Tatiana said quickly, and the dresser returned to her duties, laying out a pair of fine stockings with a flourish before dropping a rather insulting curtsy and leaving the room, muttering darkly under her breath.
“I don’t like her,” Alina told her companion, not for the first time. “And I don’t think she really wished to come here. I shall have her sent home immediately.”
“The Entschlossen sailed on the evening tide, my lady, along with all those handsome guardsmen. I saw it leave from this very window. You were sleeping, and I didn’t think to wake you. I would have, had I known you were planning to send Miss Pickles and Sour Cider packing.”
Alina slid off the side of the bed, her bare feet encountering the cool wooden planks. “Yes, well, there’s no use for it then, is there? She was Aunt Mimi’s choice, and she’d only have replaced her with someone even worse. We’ll have to make the best of things. You don’t suppose I could take a quick trip outside and find a nice fat toad to put in her bed?”
“Oh, my lady, you are such a joy to me,” Tatiana said, dropping to her