“I would like to set things straight with Donald and Melinda, post haste. Your sister especially, but there is a matter of grave importance I must attend to here. I can not return until then.”
“Miss Finch?” Will ventured.
Blake slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “Yes, William. Miss Finch. There is the delicate matter of convincing her to marry me and the upcoming birth of your brother or sister. I would very much like to be in attendance that day.” Will stared at him. “I didn’t tell you I helped a woman, a Mrs. Fletcher, deliver a daughter on my trip here. Was quite extraordinary. I have all intentions of being the first person my child sees in this world.”
“You helped deliver a baby? Was there no midwife?”
“No. You see, just a neighbor. Tess was her name and expecting as well,” Blake said. He continued then to tell William of everything he’d encountered. Of their lost luggage and carriage. Of Benson’s wild manner of dress. Of the sores on his bottom from riding. Until Will howled with laughter.
A bell clanged and William stood. “Tis supper, Father. Would be rude to be late.”
Blake chuckled as he followed his son, sorely concerned for his father’s manners. When he stepped in the kitchen another fight brewed between the round cook and Benson. The cowboys milled around exchanging odds on who would win. Apparently all over where Blake was to be seated.
“Benson. No need to worry. I will be happy at any place,” Blake said.
“But Your Grace,” Benson wailed.
The kitchen quieted and Blake turned to the doorway. Gertrude stood there as if she were a deer caught in the full light of the moon. Looking pale and fragile still for her wide girth. He swept around the table and faced her to clip off a bow. “Allow me,” Blake said as he escorted her the three feet to her chair. He heard sly comments and laughter from the men.
Will bristled, walked to Gert’s chair and stood across from his father. “Miss Finch. I am glad to see you’ve joined us. You look lovely today.” Will took one short step back and seated himself between Clyde and Clem.
Uncle Fred eyed the goings on and said a short prayer.
“Mr. Hastings. Tell me about the horse William broke today,” Blake said.
Uncle Fred looked up, clearly surprised at the question, and set his spoon in the bowl. “What do you want to know?”
“The markings, Father, indicate the sire or dame may have been a paint. A native American horse. She’ll be a fine mount,” William said and turned to Slim. “Wouldn’t you say so?” Will asked.
“I reckon,” Slim replied, his mouth full of food.
“I’m not so sure. Sometimes those ones never do take to the bit,” Fred replied.
The talk then was loud and raucous with each hand shouting his opinion. Benson and Cookie began to remove plates while the men sat back in their chairs still debating. Benson served Blake and William tea and they nodded their thanks.
“Oh, Miss Finch. I did forget to ask if you’d care for any.” Benson smiled broadly.
“Yes, I believe I will have tea, Benson. Thank you,” Gertrude replied.
Cookie’s hands flew to his hips. “Missy, you ain’t never wanted tea before or I’d a made it.”
“It just sounds good right now,” Gertrude said.
Cookie shook his head. “English nonsense. Aint’ nothin’ the matter with good old American coffee.”
“Speaking of England,” Luke Matson said as he stared at Blake. “When you going back? Will’s been missing his family.”
Silence reigned in the small kitchen. Blake leaned forward to fold his hands in front of him and stake his claim as Fred Hastings had mentioned. “Benson and William will travel soon to England.” Blake would make the cowboy lay down the gauntlet. Luke Matson did in the next instant.
“What about you?” the cowboy growled.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Blake’s eyes did not blink with his announcement. Just met Matson’s stare head on.
Clyde crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. Clem whistled and leaned his chair back on two legs. Soon the table erupted in odds.
“Matson’s younger by ten years, I’d say. My two bucks are on him,” Clem said.
Pokey shook his head. “The Englander has longer arms. I match that money on reach.”
Gertrude’s hands hit the table with a thud and every head turned. “Stop it right now. I’m going to sit on the porch. I had better not hear one more word about betting.”
Blake grinned. His sassy Gertrude had stopped the chatter. What a duchess she would make.
Luke Matson leaned forward and whispered, “Will says you English boys duel about whose pants have a tighter crease. Didn’t expect you to hide behind skirts.”
Blake’s grin dropped. “Those skirts belong to me. Make no mistake about it. I don’t hide behind them.
They’re mine.”
Luke Matson glared. “We’ll see about that.”
Gertrude was watching the sun set in a ball of orange fire from the rocker on the porch when Blake approached. “Gertrude. Are you up to taking a stroll?” he asked.
She nodded and stood to accept his hand. He tucked it in the crook of his arm and set a leisurely pace away from the house.
Finally he was close enough to Gertrude to smell the tantalizing scent of lemons. And he was randy as a bull. Hard as a rock as they strolled arm in arm. Her figure had changed. Her arms were still slender.
Gertrude’s face was the same other than an elusive quality he’d yet to name. But her breasts were larger.
Blake groaned. Her stomach stuck out as if a massive pumpkin were under her skirts. She was magnificent.
“You told Luke Matson you’re staying. Why?” she asked.
“Why did I tell him?” Blake countered.
Gertrude cocked her head. “No. Why are you staying?”
“You are expecting my child, Gertrude. There is unfinished business between us,” Blake said finally.
“I told you before you needn’t feel obligated.” She turned her head to the prairie. “I was well aware of what I was doing. I accept the consequences.”
“So will I,” Blake said. He stole a look at Gertrude. Tears rolled down her face. “Why are you crying?”
“I won’t let you take this baby from me,” she said as she shook her hand free of his arm.
“Do you think so little of me that I would rip a child from its mother’s arms? Have I been so cruel?”
Blake asked.
“No,” Gertrude said. “But I do know you are arrogant and high handed and used to getting your own way.”
“True enough,” Blake replied. She had made the comment as if he wasn’t supposed to be. He was actually feeling much better. More himself. The Duke of Wexford. After scares and births, near death and honor grudges he felt as if he were a young man again. Blake’s talk with William had gone well. He told McDonald he’d not ask for Gertrude’s hand again because his pride had been sorely wounded. But now, here, after all he’d faced with her beside him his confidence soared.
“Why did you come yourself for William?” she asked. “He was sure you would send someone else.”
“William and I needed time to sort things out,” Blake said. “And I very much wished to see you again.”
“I can hardly believe that,” she said.
Blake turned Gertrude to face him. He’d best proceed slowly in her state of mind yet he wished to make clear his feelings. “I have thought of you constantly since we parted at the dock. I kept thinking it would cease. But it hasn’t.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “I can not for my life forget how you felt in my arms.
Or under me.” Blake awkwardly bent over her stomach and touched his lips to hers.
* * * *
“We can be married here with your uncle and Will in attendance,” Blake murmured as he stroked her cheek.
Gert stepped away from the circle of his arms and propped her fists on her missing waist. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, Gertrude. We will marry here before we return to London.” Blake straightened his back. “You are the perfect duchess for me and I long to start afresh with our child.”
Blake Sanders was still handsome, even more so in his American clothes. He still took her breath away when he kissed her. He was still a horse’s ass. “I am not marrying you. I am not going to London. I have no intentions of playing second fiddle to any woman named Helena.”
“I’ll have no mistress, Gertrude. I have done a fair amount of thinking while being robbed, playing midwife and being beaten to death. I was wrong in my marriage. I told Ann as much. I never gave my union with her a real chance.” Blake dropped his head with the confession. “Regardless of society’s opinions I see now those accepted practices are wrong.”
“It took you this long to figure this out?” Gert asked.
“Your lack of respect is astounding. Have you no understanding the crisis of conscience I’ve experienced to reach this conclusion?” Blake asked.
“Your son figured it all out at the ripe old age of fourteen.”
Blake grabbed Gertrude’s arms and pulled her as close as her stomach would allow, claiming her mouth with an intensity that shocked her. Her pirate had returned. Come back to claim her and drop her sensibilities like a coat she’d shrugged off. The smell of horse and leather met her nose. Demanding lips met her mouth. He angled his face to plunge deeper. Gert’s fingers wandered soft fabric around arms too wide to circle. This pirate was solid muscle from climbing masts and felling foes. Her pirate. Blake Sanders. She shuddered to realize the depths she’d missed this. How easy it would be to fall under his charms. Gert kicked at him awkwardly, desperate to put space between them.
Blake caught her leg and caressed the back of her thigh with his hand. “Have a care, Gertrude. My reactions are faster now than when we stood by the lake.”
She stilled when he released her and bit out her reply. “Women all over London would thank me if I gelded you.”
“Let us have no discussion in that vein, Gertrude,” Blake said. “It is over and will not be repeated as I have said. ‘Tis private, in any case.”
“From what I’ve heard there’s been nothing private about that,” Gert said evenly as she dropped her eyes to the buttons of his pants, “in the last twenty years. Probably so common, London ladies sketch them from memory when they’re done with their needlepoint.”
“If they viewed them now, their paintings would make the lowliest whore blush,” Blake shouted. “I have fought Indians, blackguards and delivered a child with a rod as stiff as board. I fear if your blow had landed it would have exploded in a thousand pieces like a vase that had been dropped to a tile floor.”
Gert’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Blake tilted his head and looked out over the range. “I’ve had no woman since you, Gertrude. Tavern wenches in lace and no bodice make me wilt briefly. Other than that I’ve had not a second’s peace from my urgings.”
Gert’s thoughts passed her lips before she could stop them. “Sometimes a stallion must be put down if he’s unable to well, find a mare.”
“On occasion I believed a bullet to the head would be kinder than the torture I’ve endured.” Blake stared at Gert intensely. “But, thankfully this old horse has found his mate.”
Gert watched Blake retreat to the house as a shiver trailed down her arms. She could not decide what to do. She had a powerful hankering to beat him senseless. Or strip naked in front of him. For her life she could not decide which.
* * * *
And in the next breath, told her he wouldn’t have a mistress; contrary to everything she knew of his past.
Through some miraculous crisis of consciousness the Duke of Wexford had concluded that he’d wronged Lady Ann and the habit of keeping a mistress was unacceptable. That in itself was shocking.
But what brought a little smile to her face was not Blake’s change of heart. What forced her mouth from grin to frown and back was Blake’s claim he’d been with no woman since her. And that he was highly uncomfortable. Serves him right, she thought to herself, with a tilt to her head. La de, as Elizabeth would say, and no bar girl hanging out of her dress had eased him. And even with a stomach that stuck out a yard, he’d kissed her. Passionately. Gert closed her eyes with a smile on her face.
* * * *
The following morning, she awoke to a beautiful fall day feeling better than she had in months. Gert dressed quickly determined to get caught up with all the chores she’d left behind when she went to London. A cup of tea in her hand she seated herself at the desk in Uncle Fred’s small study. The stack of mail took Gert till noon to open. She opened the account books just as Blake found her.
“What are you doing? I’ve been wondering where you’ve been,” Blake announced from the door.
Gert’s fingertips were covered in ink and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as he spoke.
“Catching up on correspondence and the books. Very little’s been done since I left for England.”
“You look tired. Have you eaten? Surely there’s someone else that can see to this,” Blake asked.
Gert shook her head and her unbound hair swayed. “No. Aunt Mavis taught me how to do it all before she died. Uncle Fred has a head for horses but not business.”
Fred walked in and up to the desk. “Want to start fencing in the south range before winter, Gert. I’ll need supplies.”
“Not until I figure out all that you’ve spent since I’ve been gone. How much will you need?” Gert asked.
“Mr. Hastings. I fear you’re overtaxing Miss Finch,” Blake said.
Gert smiled up at them both. “Actually I feel better than I’ve felt in months. Good to be back in the saddle again.”
Blake’s mouth dropped. “You’ll do no such thing. Riding these wild beasts in your fragile condition. I won’t stand for it.”
Fred turned to Blake exasperated. “She don’t mean the saddle of a horse, ya nitwit. She means doling out the money two pennies at a time.”