He shrugged, ignoring her accusation. ‘Our stay in my London house will be of short duration as we both adjust to our new situation.’
‘And after that?’ said Grace.
‘We shall see,’ was his reply. Rawden stared at her in silence, making her squirm inside, and then he reached out and brushed a strand of wet hair off her face. ‘Now you are mine, I need to take care of you,’ he said, with all kinds of dark meaning flashing in his brown eyes.
Grace had to look away at the rain lashing against the carriage windows as it rattled onward to her uncertain future. She had a husband now, and her free will was already being eroded. She had never felt so alone in the world, and her hands clenched to fists at the thought of what her wedding night may bring. She prayed that Rawden was a man of his word.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They arrived at Rawden’s house in fading light. Ivy choked its red brick walls, but a sign was just visible, reading Causton House. It lurked in a somewhat disreputable area of the city, which Grace was unfamiliar with. Many carriages and carts choked the roads, which were greasy with rain, and the neighbouring houses were dreary. Grace could hear the rush of the Thames nearby.
‘Come,’ said Rawden, offering his hand to help her alight the carriage. He did not relinquish his grip as he hurried Grace to the front door. He banged on it, fit to break it down. After an age, it was swung open by an old man who looked her up and down, saying nothing as he beckoned them inside. It was colder inside the hallway than without, and there seemed to be no other staff. A candelabra cast a dingy, flickering light onto a small side table.
‘You took your time. I thought I told you to await our arrival,’ snarled Rawden.
The man seemed unperturbed. ‘Greetings, Earl Voss,’ said the man. He had thinning hair scraped over a bald pate, food-stained clothing, and was rail thin, yet there was the shadow of a handsome man written in his fine-boned face and piercing blue eyes.
‘Don’t call me that, Reeves, for I know you mean only insolence by it,’ said Rawden. ‘Did you make the place ready?’
‘Aye, as best I could. But she’ll not suit for a bride, this draughty old place,’ he grumbled, eyeing Grace with a pinched expression which held little welcome.
‘Let me make the introductions,’ said Rawden, pulling Grace forward. ‘This is my man Reeves. He attends to the house and my every need when I am in town. Reeves, this is Grace, Countess of Voss, and your new mistress.’
‘Pleased to make acquaintance,’ said Reeves, making an approximation of a bow, but he was so old and stiff he barely managed it.
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Countess,’ said Rawden, glaring at the man who just glared back. ‘As you can see, Grace, my man is a savage like his master.’
‘Oh, there is no need to call me Countess,’ said Grace to Reeves. ‘I am sure it could become tiresome for both of us in time.’
‘As you like, Lady,’ said the man, smirking at Rawden most brazenly.
Rawden rolled his eyes. ‘Is the bedroom aired and a meal readied?’
‘Aye, as you commanded.’
‘Bring it then, and make haste.’
Rawden led Grace up a dark stairway to a bedroom that was even chillier than below and equally gloomy. The room was rather hellish, with dark wallpaper and heavy black velvet drapes around the four-poster bed, set with a scarlet coverlet. Lumpen oak furniture was set all about, and the whole scene was presided over by a murky painting of a dark-haired water nymph hung above the fireplace. Rawden’s bulk made the walls close in even more as he towered over her like a bad-tempered cliff face.
‘This will have to suffice for now. It has few comforts, as we are not used to female company.’ Grace looked him in the eye and could have sworn he reddened at what was clearly a lie. Rawden threw more coal on the fire. ‘This chamber has a fine view of the river on a sunny day and a southern aspect. That is why I chose it for you.’
‘I see.’ Grace’s eye was drawn to a trunk sitting in one corner, and he noticed.
‘You see. Your clothes have been sent over, so there was no need to complain.’
Grace was determined to stick up for herself. ‘I suppose I should be thankful I do not have to go naked.’
As soon as the words were out, she bitterly regretted them. Her cheeks took flame, and when their eyes locked, there was a heated intensity to Rawden’s gaze.
He coughed and said, ‘What do you think of the place, wife?’
‘It is a fine house, Rawden.’
‘Yet your face shows only dismay. Is that with me or this place?’
His question took Grace off guard, for it was so candid. What could she say? Honesty was best. ‘I had not thought you would live somewhere so…so unloved,’ she said.
‘Yes, it is a dreary place, but no matter. You will not have to live in this squalor for long. As Earl, I have other residences. I have had little interest in improvements over the years, as the house is nothing but a bolt-hole when I am in London, and I spend little time here. That will not change now I am married. I intend to be absent much of the time attending to my affairs, so I have little interest in furnishings and such. You may do as you please and make it into the sort of pretty little pastel confection you are used to.’
