The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Nine

The wedding banquet was a subdued affair—if “banquet” was the word for half a dozen guests, but Griffin’s new bride had insisted on a quiet event.

He led her toward a footman brandishing a tray of glasses.

“Champagne?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

She’d spoken the vows in the same monotone, as if reciting a laundry list. Had marriage turned her into a soulless statue? Perhaps he should put it to the test.

“Good,” he said. “There’s nothing worse than having a drunkard for a wife.”

He caught the sharp intake of breath and immediately regretted his words.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’m finding today somewhat trying.”

“And I’m not?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I only meant—I’m unused to being the center of attention.”

“What about when you’re beating an opponent to a pulp in a tavern courtyard?”

Ah—the passionate spirit was there—though she concealed it well.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that I’m in my element in a dirty courtyard.” He squeezed her hand. “Perhaps now, you understand why this marriage is very much to my advantage.”

She gave him a quick, tight smile, then her gaze wandered over the rest of the room. Her smile broadened, and she withdrew her hand and crossed the floor toward Lady Hart, who stood next to Major Hart and Sir Dexter.

Four Harts together—a family to be reckoned with.

They would be Griffin’s staunchest allies, provided he treated his wife properly.

If not, they’d be formidable foes.

He joined his wife as she embraced her younger brother.

“I believe I’ll miss you the most, Devon,” she said.

“Because you love me the best?”

“Good Lord, no!” She laughed. “I know Meggie will write, but you’re such a poor correspondent, I’ll hear little of you after I’m gone.”

After I’m gone.

She made it sound like she was about to die. Was marriage to him so distasteful?

He placed a hand on her shoulder, meant to be reassuring. “You may visit your family as often as you please, Dorothea.”

Her name felt unusual on his tongue, and it was only the second time he’d uttered it—the first being when he’d recited the vows not half an hour earlier.

“I’ll write, Thea,” Major Hart said.

“You mean Atalanta will,” she said. “And Sebastian, of course.”

A spike of jealousy needled at Griffin.

“Who the devil’s Sebastian?” he asked.

“My three-year-old son,” Major Hart said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Thea’s his favorite person in the whole world.”

“I’m not,” she said, blushing.

“You give yourself too little credit, Thea.” The major turned to Griffin. “Did you know that, save for Meggie’s Billy, Thea has brought every one of her nieces and nephews into the world, including my little Francine, last week?”

“Is that true?” Griffin asked.

“She so good with children, aren’t you, Thea?” Hart continued, “you could almost be mistaken for their mama.”

Griffin felt her stiffen against him, and he took her hand.

“Perhaps we should have a word with the parson before we leave, my dear.”

He led her across the room. Though she avoided his gaze, he caught a glimpse of tears.

“Did you really bring all those children into the world?” he asked.

She nodded. “In most cases, I gave assistance, but little Francine arrived early, so I had to deliver her myself.”

A note of pride laced her voice, which replaced the earlier sorrow.

“And her mother?”

“Atalanta? She’s doing well. She nurses the baby herself…” She colored and turned her head away. “Forgive me, it’s not something I should speak of.”

Did he detect a deep longing in her voice?

He took her hand. Her fingers were delicate against his, and he felt like a great, uncouth oaf beside her.

“Why didn’t you bring your daughter today?” she asked.

“Rowena?” he asked. “Did you want her here?”

“She gained a mother today.”

“I suppose she did,” he said.

“Are you ashamed of her? Or…” her breath caught, “…of me?”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I hadn’t considered it.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Is it because I’m not really her mother? Did her mother…”

“Don’t speak of her mother!” he snapped. The murmur of the guests stopped, and he strode across the floor to Sir Dexter.

“It’s time we left,” he said. “I wish to reach Sussex before dark, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want your sister to travel when it’s unsafe.”

“She has you to protect her,” Sir Dexter said, his voice dangerously quiet. “At least, I trust she does.”

Griffin shook hands with the vicar, then the party exited the house and approached the waiting carriage.

Lady Hart embraced Griffin’s wife.

“Look after yourself, darling Thea,” she said. She glanced at Griffin. “Write to me as soon as you’ve settled. I’ll be anxious to know you’re being taken good care of.”

Sir Dexter took Griffin’s hand and tightened his grip. Griffin smiled inwardly at the man’s attempt to assert his dominance. He could crush the man’s hand with a single squeeze, but out of respect, he merely nodded. Sir Dexter had other means of crushing his adversaries.

He ushered his bride into the carriage, and they set off. She leaned out of the window until the townhouse was out of sight. Then she settled back into her seat and stared straight ahead.

“We should reach Sandiford before nightfall,” he said.

“Will your daughter be waiting for us?” she asked. “Rowena, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Does she favor you?” she asked, her voice betraying her unease. “Or, perhaps her mother?”

“I thought I’d said her mother is not a subject I wish to discuss.”

“But we’re alone now.”

“Nevertheless, I forbid it,” he said. “You made a promise to obey me, and my order was not to speak of my late wife.”

Her eyes flashed. “Your order?”

“My apologies—I meant my request.”

“I’m not your employee.”

“No,” he replied, “you’re my wife.”

“I’d rather be your employee,” she said.

“What on earth for?”

She crossed her arms, like a schoolteacher attempting to explain a simple principle to a particularly aggrieving child.

He squirmed in his seat. Why did she always make him feel guilty and bad-mannered?

“An employee has rights,” she said. “He’s paid a wage, and the duties he must perform are set out clearly before him. Should he find his position dissatisfying, he’s at liberty to seek another position without approbation. In fact, he’s often lauded for trying to better himself. As for a wife…”

She fixed him with her stare, and he found himself blushing.

“A wife has no rights,” she said. “She has no wage nor is she permitted to seek respite should her position become untenable. On the rare occasion that she frees herself from her position, she’s vilified for failing to commit to the sacred vows she uttered. In short—a wife is akin to an indentured servant—though in my case, I’m being transported to Sussex, rather than the Americas.”

He stared at her. In their entire acquaintance, which consisted of two parties, one brief interview, and the wedding ceremony, she’d not spoken more than the occasional sentence. From where had that impassioned speech come?

He’d thought Rowena a handful, but it seemed that his wife was a worse hellion than his daughter. “What the devil have I gotten myself into?”

She blinked at him.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m unused to polite society. I forget to guard my speech.”

“I see no problem in being frank,” she replied.

“It’s just that Rowena is a handful—I’m afraid she’s inherited her mother’s temper.”

“That’s hardly fair if you can speak of my predecessor, yet I’m forbidden,” she said. “I’d like to think that our marriage—which is more of a business contract than a true match—is a union of equals.”

“Equals?”

“Yes, equals,” she replied. “For example, you have access to half my dowry, but the rest is mine to spend as I choose.”

“You saw the contract?” He couldn’t hide his astonishment, and her lip curled into a smile.

“I’m entitled to, Mr. Oake,” she said, “given that I’m the goods being transferred.”

He took her hand. “Might you address me by my name?” he asked. “Mr. Oake seems overly formal given our new status.”

“Very well—Griffin.”

His name sounded good on her lips.

Too good. What might it sound like if she moaned it in ecstasy, while she spread for him?

But that wasn’t why he’d married her—he had no wish to tread that path again.

He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a blanket. “Here, get some rest.”

She took it, wordlessly, and covered herself as if she wished to shield herself from him as well as the cold. Then she closed her eyes, and before long, her body relaxed. She had fallen asleep.

Hardly the best start to the rest of his life.