LITMIR.BIZ

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course was no longer open to him, for instead of a fresh infusion of wealth, he brought a penniless girl into the family. And not only was she bereft of fortune, but of lineage, as well. A simple vicar’s daughter, Plain Jane ought to send his parents into apoplexy! Would they cut him off entirely? Surely not, Raleigh thought, but the idea was enough to make him groan.

      Another loud sniff made him open one eye and contemplate his bride in abject misery. But rather than offer him sympathy or inquire as to his troubles, she gave him a quelling look that reminded him of his great-aunt Hephzibah. Raleigh shuddered. Lowering his lashes once more, he groaned again in deliberate disregard for his companion’s contempt. His only comfort was that he had surely reached the absolute depths of misfortune and could hardly be supposed to sink any lower.

      Unless, of course, his parents, upon taking one look at his unsuitable bride, disowned him.

      Jane awoke with a start, shocked to have drifted off in the coach, but then, she had proved herself capable of dozing whenever and wherever, had she not? Frowning, she looked over at Raleigh and was relieved to find him resting as well. There was something unnerving about sleeping in front of another person. It bespoke a vulnerability that she did not care to expose to the man she had married. Last night they had both been oblivious in the yellow room’s big bed, but now…Jane shivered. She did not like people looking at her, judging and comparing her, and she was grateful for his inattention.

      Although mindful of her own dislike for staring, Jane could not help but take the opportunity to consider her husband. He was sprawled along the seat in complete abandon, careless even when unawares, Jane thought disdainfully. One arm rested beneath his head, while one long leg lay across the cushions in a most unseemly manner.

      Dandy. Although she had rarely been to London, Jane had seen such men before. Of course, Wycliffe was a study in elegance, too refined to be one, but not Raleigh. Raleigh had always looked too well groomed to be anything except one of those young bucks who put devotion to fashion above all else, constantly preening and posturing with his quizzing glass! His gloves had always been unsoiled, his handkerchief spotless, his boots immaculate. To a young girl often filthy from gardening, it had been intimidating, and Jane keenly recalled her youthful resentment at his constant perfection.

      He had changed little in the ensuing years. While Jane had learned to indulge her love for flowers with more care, she was still sometimes dusty from digging in the earth. Raleigh, on the other hand, was impossibly clean, his hair never out of place, his garments never wrinkled. And although other visitors to Casterleigh usually reeked of the stables, Raleigh even smelled clean, a combination of soap and cologne and his own special scent.

      Lack of industriousness, Jane thought piously. From his frequent, lengthy stays, it was apparent that the viscount had no real duties with which to occupy himself. Better that a man carry the odor of honest labor, Jane told herself, than be such a sad layabout.

      It appeared that the extent of Raleigh’s exertions involved standing still for his tailor, or perhaps not even that, for his clothes could hardly said to be of a proper fit. His discreetly patterned waistcoat looked so snug, Jane was surprised the man could draw a decent breath. And his doeskin pantaloons were definitely too tight, clinging like another skin to his muscled thighs before disappearing into his gleaming hessians.

      Drawing in a sharp breath, Jane focused her attention back upon his face, framed by his absurdly high, stiff collar, and she paused to silently decry his elaborately tied cravat. It was the only loose item of apparel he wore, for even his scarlet coat threatened to burst at the seams of shoulders Jane had never before noticed as being quite so broad.

      After taking another quick breath, Jane gazed again at his face, composed even in sleep. Naturally, the man could be counted upon not to do anything so mundane as to snore or drool. Nor did his countenance grow slack, for it was nearly dusk and the golden glow inside the couch positively kissed his features, even and appealing.

      But not to her. Never to her, she vowed. With a sniff of disgust, Jane looked out the window only to swallow a gasp, for coming into view was a vast building, a huge Palladian edifice that she knew with sickening dread could only be Raleigh’s home, Westfield Park. A vast face of stone rose upward three stories—four in the severe, square towers that marked the building’s corners—its innumerable windows capturing the setting sun, blinding her so that she had to blink back tears.

      She was to serve as mistress of this huge, cold place someday? Jane must have made a sound of distress at the thought, for Raleigh stirred, righting himself gracefully. Without meeting his gaze, she turned to stare resolutely out the window, while trying to marshal her courage. Somehow, because of his careless manner, Raleigh had always seemed less of a nobleman than Wycliffe, but now she was forcibly reminded that the viscount would inherit an earldom when his father died. And an estate larger than she had ever dreamed.

      Jane felt sick.

      “How do I look?” The absurd question made her glance toward Raleigh, who was smoothing his scarlet coat and running a hand over his carefully arranged hair.

      “Like a man obsessed with his appearance!” Jane snapped.

      “Good!” he answered, flashing her an unrepentant grin that would have melted the heart of a lesser woman. Jane did not flinch. She had opened her mouth to utter a scathing set-down when the coach rolled to a stop, and she clung uncertainly to the cushions as Raleigh swept past her.

      “Try to look as mild and unassuming as you always did at Casterleigh,” the viscount muttered as he dropped to the ground and reached for her. “Agree with whatever they say, smile and nod, and maybe we can escape without losing everything.”

      Stiffening, Jane lifted her chin and allowed him to help her out. He took her arm in a feigned show of solicitousness, and her fear fled, replaced by irritation at both his insincere actions and his curt instructions. What had he meant by his words? Did he think she would shame him? Although she might not come from the kind of wealthy, spoiled existence that had been his, Jane was certain her manners were far superior. Her father was a decent and kind man who had raised his children to follow in his footsteps, and Jane held her head high as Raleigh led her up the stairs.

      The door was already open, a slender, white-haired gentleman standing smartly at attention beside it. “Good evening, Pridham,” Raleigh said casually.

      “My lord.”

      “Would you tell my parents that I have arrived?”

      “Most certainly, my lord.” Jane felt the flicker of a cold glance toward her and stiffened once more. “And whom shall I say is accompanying you?”

      Raleigh cleared his throat. “My, uh, wife.”

      Only the nearly imperceptible jerk of the butler’s head revealed his apparent disapproval, and Jane turned an inquiring look his way. But he was too well trained to respond, and with a curt nod, closed the door behind them.

      “Very good, my lord. If you will be so kind as to follow me, I shall show you into the salon at once.” Although Jane was certain that Raleigh knew his direction in his own home, the man silently led them forward, and they followed just as quietly.

      Walking through cavernous rooms decorated with rococo plasterwork and elegant furniture, Jane felt her trepidation return. Her chest tightened painfully as they were led into a spacious salon, where festoons and emblems of music and the arts lined the walls. Enormous pier glasses with carved, gilt frames were hung over delicate side tables, and some sort of thick, expensive carpet covered the floor. Jane found that she was holding her breath, but exhaled it slowly when she realized that except for the elaborate furnishings, the room was empty.

      “I shall inform the earl and countess of your arrival,” the butler said, leaving Jane to stare after him. Accustomed as she was to the easy camaraderie of the vicarage, she could not believe that they had been ushered here to wait, like guests, at the pleasure of Raleigh’s parents. What kind of people were they? Although she knew not the answer, she felt a touch of sympathy for her husband and firmly quelled it. After all, Jane was certain he would prefer his life of chill privilege to the loving near-poverty in which

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