“I beg your pardon?” She regarded him, brows furrowed, for several seconds. Then the odd visions she had had all day fell into place and utter mortification replaced her confused state.
“Oh dear God.” She buried her face in her hands. “I cannot imagine what you think of me.” She huddledon the seat, waiting for the explosion of wrath. The sound of spluttering came from the opposite seat. Her shoulders tensed. Her new husband’s fury had apparently robbed him of the power of speech. Another, even more horrible thought struck her.
“Does Mama know?” She looked up again as she spoke, to see her spouse keeled over on the leather cushions, holding a handkerchief to his mouth while silent paroxysms shook his body.
“Lord Rossburn!” She took an arm to try to pull him upright, but he hardly budged. She grasped his lapels, determined to move him. “Please, you can’t have an apoplexy now! My mother will kill me.”
Her entire body went weak with relief when he finally took a gasping breath. Then she stiffened as he fell to his side again, clutching his stomach as he fought to catch his breath between gusts of laughter.
“Damme, this is the best joke I’ve had in a year.”
Stunned, she balanced herself and caught her own breath as further howls of mirth erupted from him. When she could speak at last, her voice trembled with rage.
“Am I to understand that your lordship found the situation entertaining?”
Ignoring her frigid tone, he nodded once before bursting into another round of belly laughs. By the time he righted himself and mopped the tears from his eyes with the cambric square, Diantha had resumed her seat once more. Her frigid regard only served to amuse him further, judging from the suppressed chuckle he gave on meeting her eyes.
“Are we quite finished now?”
He nodded, an insouciant smile still twisting his lips. She wished she had a book in her reticule tobury herself in. When his face lost its hauteur, it looked alarmingly friendly. Unnerved, she resorted to sarcasm. “I am so pleased that I amuse your lordship.”
“Me too.” At her outraged exhalation, the smile expanded into a grin and he settled back against the squabs. “You should be pleased, my dear. Very few ladies have a sense of humor, you know.”
“I beg your pardon but we most certainly do!” She sniffed. “However, as a lady, I have not been bred to engage in disgusting displays of—of snorts and shouts.”
“Snorts? Really, I must draw the line there.” He sat up straighter. “I assure you, gentlemen do not snort.”
With his eyes twinkling and a grin twisting his mouth, he did not appear remotely cold or forbidding. She could not resist his teasing. “I beg to differ, my lord, as you decidedly did snort just now. Several times.” Only a tiny twitch of her lips marred the dignified delivery. Catching herself succumbing to his charm, she pokered up. “A good view of the docks is coming up on your right. By all means enjoy it.”
“Eventually you’re going to have to say my name.” He lounged in the corner, eyes half closed.
“The opportunity has never arisen before now.” She laced and unlaced her fingers in her lap.
“Why are you so uncomfortable with me, Diantha?” He asked the question quietly, but the use of her given name gave it unexpected intimacy. Her head twinged painfully as she struggled to form an answer.
“It’s just that I’ve never been alone with youbefore now.” She knew how foolish the words were as soon as they left her mouth, and tried to explain. “I’ve never been alone with any man besides my own flesh and blood. And now we’re married, and I am expected to carry on conversations with you in private when I’ve never had any practice doing so!” She broke off as she remembered another aspect of married life.
“And another thing! How on earth am I supposed to carry out my wifely duties when everyone refuses to enlighten me as to what they are!” She glared at him impersonally. “I haven’t the least clue as to what is expected of me, and Mama always tells me I am hopeless in society.” She stopped, considering. “Although that is not quite true. I am nervous, of course. But I always earned first marks in deportment when I was at school in Paris.”
Her last words barely penetrated Kieran’s shocked mind. The only women he had ever heard refer so openly to sexual matters were his mistresses, women he had chosen for their forthright appreciation of the pleasures of the flesh. Of course, they had never waxed indignant on the subject. He repressed another laugh at the sight of his new wife crossly exclaiming at her lack of knowledge.
He considered the possibility that remedying her ignorance in this area might not be the chore he had expected it to be. Milky virgins held no appeal for him, but the flashes of spirit he had seen last night and just now intrigued him.
And for once, she wore something that suitedher. That blue rig she wore did something to make her eyes look deeper, and her skin didn’t look so sallow. With her hair pulled back into a glossy chignon at the nape of her neck, she looked quite elegant.
For the first time, he wondered how it must feel to be ordered about so constantly. His family treated their servants better than the Quinns treated their daughter. The image of his sturdy Scottish retainers faced with his mother-in-law’s pretentions brought a smile to his face.
The Quinn family yacht ferried them across the Hudson River to New Jersey, where they entered a second carriage, decorated with greens and flowers to match those in the church earlier. Several miles later, they arrived at one of the least fashionable Quinn mansions.
Diantha craned her neck to see Cliff Heights through the avenue of trees lining the drive. Her mother had wanted to build a grand home on Long Island, but her husband, in a rare show of sentiment, selected a location in his home state. She and her brothers had always loved it.
The carriage pulled to a stop. Kieran stepped out, assisting her to the ground before he gazed up at the house. Situated on a hill, it overlooked the Hudson, and beyond it, Manhattan Island.
Beside him, Diantha couldn’t hide a grin. “It’s quite dreadful isn’t it?”
“How many different architectural styles am Ilooking at?” He murmured the question under his breath as the butler sailed forward to meet them.
“I counted six once.” As she replied, Diantha resigned herself to a tedious speech. She tensed as her husband assumed his usual air of cool hauteur.
