His Spanish Bride by Teresa Grant Read Free Book Online Page A

himself. Though all things considered, it might be easier to have him out of the way.
    Haddon’s gaze strayed from the girls round the fireplace to his own wife, who was seated on a settee with two other matrons. “Crackbrained notion to bring Charlotte to the Peninsula. Should have left her safely in England as Linford did with Mary. Wives can play the devil with one’s leisure time. As you’ll discover.”
    Malcolm gave the most agreeable smile he could muster. “As it happens, I’m quite looking forward to spending time with my wife.”
    “A girl like that will get bored. Don’t be fool enough to think you’ll be able to hold on to her.”
    Malcolm’s fingers tightened round his champagne glass. It was, he realized, a very real possibility. Suzanne hadn’t had the chance to fall in love. She might very well do so at some point in the future. In which case common sense dictated that he would turn a blind eye. It was the practice of couples in the beau monde after all. He should be used to it.
    He forced his fingers to unclench before he snapped the stem of his glass. “I’m not a fool, Haddon.”
    “All very well to say so, Rannoch. You’ll be singing a different tune when she betrays you.”
     
     
    “My felicitations, my dear.”
    Mrs. Gordon, a sharp-featured lady with a cloud of auburn hair and a fondness for ostrich feathers, swept up to Suzanne with a rustle of jonquil satin and Brussels lace. “You’re marrying into one of the best families in Britain.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.” Suzanne recalled that Mrs. Gordon’s husband was a colonel in one of the cavalry regiments. She had an image of Mrs. Gordon surrounded by three girls in white, all of marriageable age.
    Mrs. Gordon ran a shrewd gaze over Suzanne, half-disapproving, half-tinged with what might have been sympathy. “I don’t envy you, my dear. One can marry into the sort of society Malcolm Rannoch was born to, but one never really belongs.”
    “Thankfully, Mrs. Gordon, I know what it is to be an outsider.”
    “If—”
    “I trust you haven’t been telling my betrothed dire tales about life among the English ton, Mrs. Gordon.” Malcolm appeared beside them.
    “She’s simply been telling me how charming your family is, and how I’m fortunate to join them.” Suzanne took a step closer to her fiancé.
    “Thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Gordon, but I think it’s quite plain the shoe is on the other foot.” Malcolm put out his arm. Suzanne curved her hand round it.
    Mrs. Gordon sniffed. “You always were tolerant, Malcolm Rannoch. Perhaps to a fault.”
    “How often did Mrs. Gordon try to put her daughters in your way?” Suzanne murmured as Mrs. Gordon moved off.
    “I wouldn’t know. I did my best to turn a blind eye.” Suzanne looked up and scanned his face. “I didn’t realize quite how prominent your family is.”
    “Mrs. Gordon exaggerates.”
    “I don’t think so. I can see I’m cast as the foreign adventuress who snagged one of British society’s most eligible bachelors.”
    “Suzanne—” Malcolm turned toward her. “British society is shockingly insular, particularly the expatriates.” He lifted a hand, hesitated, then touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don’t listen to women like her.”
    The touch of his fingers brought an unexpected wash of warmth. “I know better than to listen to gossip. But it’s only going to get worse when the baby’s born.”
    His mouth tightened. “They’ll only think I took advantage of you.”
    “Or that I entrapped you.”
    He bit back a curse. “We can face down gossip. And we’ll protect the child from it.”
    For an instant, an image of the two of them with a child, a shadowy vision of a toddler with dark hair clinging to both their hands, flashed into her mind. Treacherous to think that way. By then she would most likely no longer be living with him. And very likely he’d be greatly relieved to have his life to himself again.
    “Miss Saint-Vallier.” Lord