As a Penwich girl, she had never even thought it possible. And later, after Barbados, she never would have wanted entry, would have loathed the scrutiny on her. She would still loathe it.
Betrayal burned hot in her chest. How could he have failed to tell her? It certainly bore mention.
A glance down at her rumpled and horribly unfashionable traveling frock heightened her sense of distress. A fine lady she was not. This Lady Adara would see that in an instant.
Suddenly she wanted to crawl behind one of the large hedges lining the front of the house. How would his family react to their marriage? A woman with no prospects. With only loose ties to a family of questionable means. A woman with claim to a vague first husband of mysterious origins.
A lord could be counted upon to marry an heiress. Or a lady. Or both.
“Adara is here,” Spencer announced grimly, sounding decidedly unsurprised. “Just as well. She can carry the news to Camila and appease her on the matter of my marriage.”
Really, if he’d thought his relations might descend upon them, he ought to have explained who he was to her.
The housekeeper’s lips curled back from her teeth. “She and her friends have been having a high time of it in the drawing room this evening.”
Spencer clasped Evie’s arm and guided her toward the housekeeper. “Take Evie. I’ll see to our . . . guests.”
Relief swelled through Evie. She wouldn’t have to stand witness as he explained his wife to his blue-blooded relation. Cowardly, she supposed, but she was glad to absent herself from the encounter.
They started up the steps, halting as a sudden feminine squeal pealed across the air.
“Spencer!” In the threshold emerged a creature so beautiful that Evie felt like a gorgon, all her flaws magnified—her lack of curves, a narrow face that could only be described as marginally attractive.
Lady Adara was a goddess in a gown of blue silk, her hair gathered in golden ringlets at each side of her head. The dark choker at her neck only drew the eye to her creamy expanse of cl**vage.
Others arrived, crowding the threshold. All brightly plumed peacocks. Lady Adara lifted her skirts and hurried forward in a dainty rush of tiny-slippered feet. She tossed herself against Spencer, her arms wrapping around him in warm embrace.
Evie’s face grew tight and itchy as she watched the female hug her husband.
Feeling very much the outsider, she edged closer to the housekeeper. She might be Spencer’s wife, but she clearly didn’t know him. Not as Lady Adara did. She doubted the day would ever arrive when she would fling her arms around her husband in such abandon. A dull ache throbbed beneath her breastbone at this realization.
“Adara,” he greeted, disentangling her from his body. “What are you doing here?”
She slapped lightly at his chest, blinking her thickly lashed eyes. Big, melting brown eyes. “I should ask you that. Why have you not yet come home? Your stepmother and I have been waiting with bated breath. Especially me.”
Evie stiffened. Especially me.
Was it her imagination, or was his sister-in-law a little too affectionate?
Spencer’s voice rumbled, “I assured Bagby—”
“Bagby, pfft! You expected me to take a servant’s accounting that you truly mean to acquire a bride? Spencer, darling, would you even know where to look for an eligible lady? You’ve been at war, for heaven’s sake. Never fear, I’ve a list of only the most exceptional girls from this season’s crop.”
She flattened both palms over Spencer’s chest as though it were the most natural thing to do. “At least you’ve returned with all your parts intact. Young brides can be particular about that sort of thing.” Fingers splayed wide, she skimmed the broad expanse of his chest and giggled. “At least you feel intact, but I might require a closer inspection in private.”
The little witch! Evie had never witnessed a more sordid display. Heat scalded her cheeks. Her fingers curled at her sides in barely checked violence. Incredibly, the urge to seize the woman by her blonde ringlets and toss her to the ground consumed her.
Would it begin then? So soon? Before they even set about making that heir he so desired? Must their marriage already appear the sham it truly was?
She swallowed against the tightening of her throat, horrified at the unwelcome burn in the backs of her eyes. Would he seek out other women with her watching? She blinked fiercely, wondering why she should care so greatly. Could she fault him when she had not obliged him in the marital bed on the very eve of their wedding? Marriage was lifelong. Men did not engage in lifelong abstinence.
Unable to trust herself to not assault the exquisite Lady Adara, she nudged closer to Mrs. Brooks, ready to flee, eager to leave the company of Spencer’s sister-in-law.
“Adara, there is someone I would like you to meet.”
Evie froze. Slowly, she turned.
Spencer stretched a hand toward her.
Adara’s gaze followed, skimming the length of his outstretched arm before lifting up to Evie. Her face registered surprise. Apparently, she had not noticed Evie until now.
“Spencer,” she murmured, her voice chiding. “Who is this?”
“Adara, this is my wife. Evelyn—”
“Your wife!” Her eyes grew enormous in her face, rendering her almost unattractive. Evie suppressed a smile, secretly wishing she would maintain the expression.
“How can that be?” Adara continued. “Bagby made no mention of a wife when he returned from seeing you, only that you were agreeable to acquiring a bride.” Splotches of red broke out over her face. “Is this some kind of jest, Spencer?” She propped delicate fists on her waist. “Because I assure you, I am not amused. This, this . . . person cannot be your wife. Camila and I had plans, far more suitable candidates than this—”
“No jest, Adara,” he replied, his voice cutting. “You and Camila must suffer your disappointments. I decided to choose my own bride.” His broad palm splayed against the small of Evie’s back. “Won’t you properly greet my bride? She is your successor.”
Evie slid a glance to his stone-carved face, certain he was receiving some sort of twisted pleasure from the entire episode, and sure of the fact that it failed to register with him that he did so at her expense.
After a moment’s hesitation, Adara skirted a curtsey, her brown eyes no longer melting brown but hard chips of obsidian. “Lady Winters, welcome.” Lady Winters? Was that her name then? “We have much to . . .”
Her words faded to a droning buzz in Evie’s head. Lady Winters. She glared at Spencer. At her questioning stare, he gave a single hard shake of the head. A warning. The message in his eyes was clear. Not now.
She bit her lip to keep from demanding an explanation then and there. Only pride kept her in check. She would not have his sister-in-law learn that she did not even know her own name. She would not have her learn she knew close to nothing about the man she’d married. If possible, she would keep that shame to herself.
“Adara, if you will excuse us. It’s been a long journey, and Evie and I would like to rest.”
Adara’s face grew splotchier. “Of course. You’re newlyweds, after all.” Her head cocked, dark eyes snapping malice. “I well remember what that was like.” Her lips curved into a brittle smile. “Your brother and I didn’t surface for days.” Stepping aside, she waved them within.
Spencer urged Evie ahead. Evie snuck another glance at his face. He showed no sign of even hearing Adara. His gaze remained fixed on her, his green eyes glittery and hard, probing. With a lift of her chin, she snapped her gaze straight ahead and fled up the stairs, letting him trail in her wake. She could not stroll side by side and muster the pretense of happy newlyweds. Inexplicably, emotion clogged her throat.
Hoping to leave him far behind, she hastened down the corridor toward the room in which she’d previously slept.
Only Spencer had other ideas. He caught her arm and whirled her around, ushering her inside another room. His bedchamber, if the sheer size and dark masculine furnishings were any indication.
She tried leaving, but he blocked her path to the door, his expression cross.
“Let me pass.”
“Not yet. We need to clear up a few matters.”
She propped her fists on her hips. In that moment, the sight of his handsome face irritated her to no end. “I’m not one of your soldiers to be commanded—”
“No,” he bit out. “You’re my wife.”
She angled her chin. “Not quite.”
“No?” He advanced on her. She couldn’t help it; she backed away, moving deeper into his vast bedroom. “And how is that? I seem to recall taking vows.”
“The union can still be dissolved,” she tossed out, reckless in her anger. “It’s not too late, Lord Winters,” she snapped with heavy emphasis, fuming over his omission . . . fuming at the way his sister-in-law fawned over him. It failed to signify to her that he had not appeared to return her interest. The woman wanted him. Evie read it in her face, heard it in her voice.
She charged ahead, “How could you not mention such a thing to me?”
“I did include my full name and title when I signed the register—”
“Oh! I failed to notice. Not so shocking when I scarcely remember signing my own name!”
“I confess it hasn’t been something I’ve quite learned to accept yet. I planned to tell you.”
“Pay it no mind! I’m certain the Church will grant a fine lord such as yourself an annulment once they learn you married a little nobody like me.”
“I never said—”
“A fallen woman, no less.” She emulated a shudder. “Imagine if the truth ever came out? A man of your position, what could you have been thinking?”
“Enough,” he thundered.
“You can’t order me about. Let’s not forget, we’re not man and wife in the truest sense.”
He cocked a dark brow. “Oh, I haven’t forgot, my dear.”
“Good,” she snapped, nodding fiercely, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.
“That I haven’t bedded you is a fact I’m acutely conscious of.” His expression grew menacing, and he advanced a step.
She blinked, not liking the militant light entering his green eyes. She edged back a step.
He followed, his lips curving in a cruel, humorless smile.
“You are right, of course,” he growled, his hand moving toward his cravat, tugging it free.
“I am?” She bumped the bed.
“We aren’t wed. In the truest sense.” His cravat flew through the air. “Perhaps I’d best rectify that.”
She rounded the bed, placing it between them. Alarm and excitement pumped through her blood. She mentally cursed the latter. She had no business feeling excitement. “An annulment can’t be too complicated to arrange. You’re a lord, after all. Doesn’t the world bow to your whims?”
“On this matter, I don’t intend to find out.” He rounded the bed. “Cease being so dramatic. You’re stuck with me. For a few months, at any rate. Can you not endure me that long? If you want to trim some time off that sentence, then I suggest you make yourself more amenable. Now come here.”
Panic fluttered in her chest. She darted past him. He caught a handful of her cloak, and she cursed herself for not yet removing the garment when she entered the house.
Her fingers clawed the ties at her throat loose so that it dropped to the floor and she burst free. Triumph zinged through her.
His curse flew behind her, stinging her ears. She flew to the door, her hand closing around the latch.
Then he was on her, crushing her against the door with the hard slam of his body. Air rushed from her lips. Still, she scrabbled for the latch near her hip, trying to open the blasted door. A hard hand clamped on her shoulder, spinning her around.