Winterbourne Hall, England

July 21, 1816

The Wedding Night

It was far later than he would have liked before Marcus could excuse himself to the remaining guests in his garden. With so many staying the night at Winterbourne Hall, the festivities never seemed to end. His new wife had retired for the night quite some time ago, and while he wanted to allow her plenty of time to get settled in her new bedchamber—his bedchamber—he was also eager to begin their life as husband and wife.

When he had set out to win the hand of the Season's most popular young lady, he had done so with determination and the knowledge that whether or not he liked her didn't matter. Her dowry and the large sum of money he was about to gain were what mattered. He wasn't proud of it, but it was the truth. He had too many responsibilities to allow his estate to fail. People depended on him. The farmers and other families who lived on his land relied on him. And he refused to fail them.

It had been a stroke of luck that his new wife wasn't only the most beautiful woman to grace this world, but also someone he truly enjoyed speaking to. He, who didn't particularly enjoy conversing with anyone. But he enjoyed spending time with Rain. She made it seem easy. Speaking, and even laughing. She was always close to a smile, and it was such a contagious one he'd probably smiled more in the last few weeks while courting her than he had in his lifetime.

He hurried his steps down the long hallways of Winterbourne Hall. It was an old country seat that had been in his family for many generations. Grand and beautiful, but without soul. It was more akin to a museum than a home. He hoped that with Rain as his wife, they could turn the cold halls of his ancestral house into a warm home. Completely unlike how it had been for him growing up. His father had focused more on his education and making sure he knew to fulfil his obligations as a peer of the realm, and little on anything else. Had it not been for his mother, he would not have known what love was, but his father had kept her away from him as much as possible. Claiming she made him soft.

Not wanting to dwell on his bitter past, he turned a corner and soon came to a stop outside the door to his bedchamber. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Beneath his controlled demeanour, he was a passionate man, and he had not been with a woman for months. Wanting to act like a true gentleman, he had kept his interactions with Rain chaste and proper, even as he'd wanted to taste every inch of her. Tonight, he could finally loosen his restraints—at least somewhat. She was still an innocent. But he was oddly nervous.

Knocking on the door, he waited for Rain's call before entering. She sat on his large, four-poster bed with a kitten in her lap. The one she had been talking to the evening they first met. He had asked their hosts about the animal and found out it was a stray. They had only been too happy for him to take him off their hands, and he'd gifted it to her the day after she accepted his proposal. Sir Claws. Apparently, his new wife had a fondness for silly names.

He smiled as she gently nudged the cat off her lap and slid off the bed. As her feet touched the floor, his smile faded, the dryness in his mouth returning. Closing the door behind him, he rested his back against it for a moment, needing a moment to steady himself.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice thick. She was more than that. She was extraordinary. Everything he could ever have wished for in a wife, and more. But her exterior beauty was only the shell. She was the only person he ever felt fully comfortable around, and he didn't even know why. Didn't want to question it.

The servants had lit the fire in the grate despite the warm summer evening, and together with at least two dozen candles spread throughout the room, it cast a warm glow over her as she stood by the bed, perhaps as nervous as he was. The light and shadows played over her body, sheathed in a thin nightdress that showed off her curves to their best advantage. Her long, dark hair fell around her shoulders and down her back in a thick mass, reaching her waist. He wanted to bury his hands in that silken hair so desperately.

When she made no attempt to move away from the bed, only watching him with her cornflower-blue eyes, he realised she must be terrified. Young ladies knew little to nothing of what was expected of them in the marriage bed. The few who were lucky enough to have their mother or other female relative tell them probably still didn't quite understand. And he was a rather large man. A good head taller than his wife, she must find the idea of him sharing her bed rather daunting.

Slowly moving away from the door, he loosened his cravat and pulled off his tailcoat to hang it over the back of a chair. Rain watched his every move but stayed in her spot.

"Did you enjoy the festivities?" he asked, hoping to relax her.

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I did very much, thank you. It's been a lovely day."

"Your family have all retired for the night but I'm sure you will see them tomorrow before they depart."

"I would like that."

Was he imagining the stiffness in her words? There was a distance between them he had not noticed at any point during their courtship. She must be more nervous than he had realised. Coming over to her, he took her hands in his. They were freezing. Lifting them to his face, he kissed her fingers. She twitched a little but didn't pull away. He fought back a frown. This wasn't the Rain he was used to. He leaned closer to place a kiss on her lips. He was a mere inch away when she suddenly spoke.

"Did you marry me to win a bet?"

Icy tendrils shot through his gut as he straightened. She wasn't crying. Wasn't yelling. Just stared up at him with those deep blue eyes waiting for his answer. He didn't want to start their marriage with a lie.

"Who told you?"

She let out a puff of air and pulled her hands from his grip. "It hardly matters. So it is true?"

"Was it Dash?" His brother had given him a hard time about the marriage. Said Rain deserved better than him, and he was probably right. That didn't mean he appreciated hearing it.

"No. He wished us all the best." She shook her head. "I can't believe it's true. Even after I found out about the bet—or several bets, even—I thought it must be a mistake. That it was a mere coincidence."

"I—" He stopped himself. He had no defence. He had pursued her to win the bets. The bets and her dowry.

His lack of an apology must have sparked her temped because she raised her chin and her eyes glittered dangerously. "That's it? You won't even explain yourself?"

"I pursued you because of your sizeable dowry and the bets," he said slowly. "I cannot deny facts."

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Wonderful. I have been such a fool!"

"Rain..." He reached a hand out, but she stepped backwards, shaking her head.

"Don't touch me. Never touch me again."

"That will be difficult, seeing as we are married," he pointed out, keeping his voice calm even as his insides churned.

"For all the wrong reasons!" she snapped.

He watched her as she stared at him, blinking rapidly. He had never been good at dealing with emotions. Or people, really. But never having been allowed to show any in front of his father, he found himself rather lacking in that department. How did one react in a situation such as this? He wanted to take her in his arms and explain his reasons. They were not honourable, but they had been in the best interest of everyone depending on him. It was unfair to put it on her. She had not asked to be brought into his failing estate.

"When everyone told me you were haughty and without feelings, I did not believe them." She crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward herself from him. "I should have listened. No one who cared for me could have done this. And looking at you now, you simply stand there. Finally, I can see you for exactly who you are."

Unable to meet her frank stare, his gaze faltered. She was right. He had behaved atrociously, but no matter how much he wanted to explain himself, no words left him. He always fared better if he could plan a conversation beforehand. Know what, and ideally, how he wanted to say it before even beginning the discussion.

Grabbing a dressing gown, she rushed towards the door. He caught up with her in three steps and grabbed hold of her elbow.

"Rain..."

She tugged her arm out of his grip. "I said, don't touch me!"

The shrill tone of her voice made him recoil, and he stood frozen in the room as he watched her exit through the door, slamming it behind her. Bloody hell! He cursed himself and his inability to converse like a regular person. Angry with himself and whoever had told Rain about the bets, he walked through the house to his study. No, the only person to blame here was himself. Whoever had told her had done what he had been too cowardly to say. Finding a bottle and a glass, he poured himself a drink and sat down behind his large desk.

He was rather glad that his friend had been away on a mission for the agency and unable to attend the wedding. Winter would have only too happily told him he had brought this on himself. He had been against the idea of pursuing Rain from the start. The last thing Marcus wanted to hear right now was 'I told you so'.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning—and several glasses later—that he left his study in search of his wife. He needed to explain himself. Explain why he had done the terrible thing he had, and hope that she could somehow find it within her heart to forgive him. If she cared for him at all, perhaps there was a chance, however small. A quick visit to their bedchamber confirmed she had not returned there during the night. He didn't wish to disturb her family to ask if she'd joined their rooms, so he went to his brother's room.

Dash was a good friend of hers and had still been awake and buzzing around the other guests outside when Marcus had gone inside. Perhaps he had seen Rain during the night and knew where she'd gone. A cursory knock on the door before he entered without waiting for his brother to answer. Knowing only too well how deep a sleeper Dash could be, there was no point in waiting. The room was dusky; the curtains drawn, and any lights extinguished. Ambling over to the bed, he realised his brother was not alone. Lifting the candlestick he'd brought with him, he drew a sharp breath as he saw the woman nestled in his brother's arms.

Rain.

She stirred as the light hit her face, her dark lashes fluttering. As she realised someone was there, her eyes widened, and she sat up straight, nudging Dash awake.

"What?" Dash muttered groggily. "What the deuces?"

"Good morning," Marcus said coldly.

Dash yawned and rubbed his eyes with a fist. "Morning? Is it really morning already?" Then he realised where he was and with who and he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

As he watched the two of them in bed, Marcus was struck by the absurd thought that they made a striking couple. Both young. Good looking, with dark hair and blue eyes. He hardened his heart, not wanting to feel the betrayal settling in his soul.

"Did you want Dash all along?" he asked, even as he realised he didn't want to hear the answer. "I suppose as the younger son he may not have had everything you needed."

Rain's eyes flashed with anger. "Marcus—"

He held his hand up. He didn't want to hear it. "It does not matter. I suppose we all got what we wanted," he said, keeping his voice dispassionate. "You became a duchess, and I got the money I needed. Let us not dwell on it."

When Dash opened his mouth to speak, he turned on his heel and left. Whatever excuse his brother wanted to offer, he had no interest. He had always suspected his brother harboured feelings for Rain, but until now he had not realised she reciprocated them. Maybe he should have. They had always been close. But as a second son, Dash never would have been able to offer her the things Marcus could. A duke. People had told him everyone would wish to marry a duke, and he believed them. He'd just never thought anyone would marry him, only to go straight to his brother's arms. What a fool he had been.

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