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Chapter Nine
Easter Road outside Edinburgh
22 March 1721
Camden had insisted that he and Bethea take this coach, rather than sharing Sir Walter’s. He well knew his superior would’ve preferred Camden travel with him, but by damn, he wasn’t abandoning his new wife minutes after saying, “I do.”
Instead, he’d made arrangements to meet Sir Walter after seeing Bethea safely to the bosom of her family. The man could hardly argue the point, as he’d been the one to insist on the nuptials. Besides, he’d agreed Roxdale was entitled to an explanation.
“Yes, yes, indeed. You are quite right, Camden,” he’d said, shrugging on his black, satin-lined cloak. “See to your lovely bride, soothe any qualms her family may have, and meet me at Montieth’s at, let’s say, three?” He crooked a grizzled eyebrow as he hooked the clasp at his throat. “Is that sufficient time to set things to right?”
Nae.It would take months. Years even.
Sir Walter didn’t know Keane or Bethea. Exchanging vows had been the easy part. It was everything that came after—none of which had been anticipated or planned—that would be an unholy mess to untangle.
“Aye, that should suffice,” he acquiesced.
Now, three hours later, he held his new wife in his arms as she slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted. At least she’d been spared a sick stomach by sleeping most of the journey.
Bethea had said little the first few miles, her thoughts obviously elsewhere until her lids had drifted downward, and she’d fallen asleep. She also suffered from a headache, though she didn’t whisper so much as one word in complaint.
Slumber had eluded him, but he’d drawn her into his arms and held her, feeling a protectiveness and—something else. Something foreign but enticing, suffusing him.
His lack of rancor and frustration at the situation astonished him. Yes, Camden took orders and carried them out with precision and expertise, but he’d never been a man who’d permitted himself to be manipulated.
Bethea’s dark lashes fanned her porcelain cheeks, her pink rose-bud mouth parted as she slumbered. Wrapped in a servant’s brown cloak they’d purchased from one of the barmaids for twice what it was worth, her subtle perfume wafted to him now and again.
Lilacs befit her. Fresh and sweet, but with a hint of something alluring, as well.
Camden had always faced the truth squarely, and he’d do the same in these circumstances. If he were entirely honest with himself, he hadn’t been averse to marrying Bethea. How they came to be husband and wife wasn’t the most romantic or ideal progression, but he could, in all honesty, say he didn’t mind.
She, on the other hand, had been utterly appalled. Only Camden’s assurance that the union could be voided later had led her to concede to go through with the ceremony.
The woman sleeping in his arms had fascinated him since he’d first seen her at Eytone Hall’s cèilidh celebration last August. She’d also intrigued and delighted him with her quick wit, a ready smile, and perpetual kindness to all during the week-long Hogmanay celebration at Trentwick Castle.
And yet, he hadn’t permitted his interest to go beyond a mild flirtation, firmly believing he wasn’t free to wed. Men in his line of work put their lives in peril regularly. Now, however, he found himself with a very alluring but reluctant wife. And the truth was, he didn’t object to the union nearly as much as he ought to have.
Didn’t object to holding her in his arms or the possibility of exploring her very alluring curves. What would it be like to fall asleep with her in his embrace every night? Awaken her with a kiss each morn?
If it had been any other woman, he’d have refused Sir Walter. And that epiphany both disturbed and stunned him.
The timing was atrocious, as were the circumstances. But marriage to Bethea Glanville—nae, that wasn’t unpleasant at all.
There was something powerful and enigmatic between him and Bethea.
It might only be a physical attraction, but Camden didn’t think so. He’d slated his carnal desires with willing women for over a decade and had never felt this internal pull. And that made it all the more important he not succumb to the unfamiliar emotion swirling around inside him.
It was one thing to seek an annulment or divorce for an unwanted marriage, but it would be something else entirely if he came to love Bethea. Hell, he suspected he was halfway there already. He’d never want to let her go if he allowed his feelings free rein. But neither would he make her stay if she truly wanted to leave.
He exhaled a long breath. It was too soon for those disheartening thoughts in any event.
In order for her reputation to sustain the least amount of damage, people must believe they’d eloped. Then in a few months or a year, they could proceed with the annulment, though that would bring a degree of ignominy as well.
He suspected Bethea wouldn’t care about dispersions directed at her, but would about her sister. She was fiercely loyal and devoted to those she loved. She’d not want to taint Branwen’s chances of a brilliant match, and in fact, might want to delay the dissolution of the marriage until her sister had wed.
Running a finger over Bethea’s plump lower lip, he closed his eyes.
Camden hadn’t meant to kiss her at The Boar and Brew. It had just happened, and he couldn’t regret it. He could still taste her sweetness. A fire smoldered within Bethea Glanville—Kennedy—and he longed to be the man to fan those passionate embers into a blazing conflagration.
