He rose quickly and nodded to them. “I trust the business has been concluded in a satisfactory manner?”
“Mr. Morgan is taking my proposal under consideration, Gareth. You will let us know as soon as possible what your decision is?”
“I will. Good day to you, Mrs. Mont. God be with you. You will need Him.”
With that sour blessing, he was gone. Anne sat and pulled the mug to her. “May I have a taste?”
“I’ll get you your own.” He made to leave to find the innkeeper but Anne stayed his hand.
“Sit down with me. I can share. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go back home. It’s snowing hard now.” She took a sip of the warm fragrant liquid, appreciating its instant effect. She wondered what Mrs. Smith had to say about rum punch in
The Compleat Housewife,
although it wouldn’t do to learn to make such a concoction. If she were trying to influence Major Ripton-Jones to leave his wicked ways behind, the less temptation provided for him, the better.
“How did you find my cousin?” He took his turn at the mug and passed it back to her.
“He is insufferable, isn’t he? I can see why you are no longer friends.”
“He wasn’t always such a saint. Before I went into the army, both of us got in more scrapes than you can imagine.”
“You’d be surprised,” Anne murmured. “How old were you when you left Llanwyr?”
“Seventeen.”
By her calculations, that made him thirty-three. Fifteen years in the army, one year home to fight another kind of battle. Gareth was much too old for her, really, but then she felt like an old soul despite her juvenile hijinx.
“I can see you doing sums in your head. Yes, I’m thirty-three. How old are
you
?”
“A lady doesn’t discuss her age.” He didn’t need to know how young she was, did he? Most of her acquaintances were long married by now, girls lucky enough to escape their parents during their first season. The first year, Anne had gone to all the weddings, feeling envious, chafing that her father had refused all her suitors. The next year, she had not been invited to any of them due to her scandalous conduct.
“You look like a veritable child. How did you expect to pass yourself off as an experienced housekeeper?”
“It worked for a while with you,” she said pertly.
“Aye, but I was not in full possession of my faculties now, was I?”
No, he had not been. He’d been crude and rude and dismissive, and very drunk. “What do you see when you are drinking?”
“Nothing. That’s the point.” He pushed himself back away from the tankard. “I’ll do better, Annie, I promise.”
“You had better. Your future depends upon it.” He watched in undisguised envy as she swallowed up the rest of the punch.
C
HAPTER
8
S
he was a little shrew. A nag.
And tasted like heaven.
No one had been more surprised than he by their kiss. He’d been hard as a rock for the first time in months. He’d wanted to lick every freckle, ruck up her riding habit, and tumble her right on the slate kitchen floor.
Gareth hadn’t wanted any woman save Bronwen his whole adult life. Oh, he’d fucked more than his fair share, but it was Bronwen in his head while his cock was in some other woman’s cunt. He’d been pathetic lusting after an unobtainable married woman.
When his father had written that her husband was dead, Gareth knew it was finally time to sell out and come home. The heat blazed as hot as the Indian sun between the widow and the retired soldier just as it had between the young lovers of fifteen years before.
Bronwen had agreed to marry him once her period of mourning was over. He’d worked like a slave on the estate, trying to make the place fit for Lady Lewys and her two daughters. If Bronwen complained incessantly about the conditions of Lewys Abbey’s dower house, she’d be appalled by the state of Ripton Hall.
Then he’d fallen, and her attraction to him vanished. There was no virtuous nursing or soothing palm on his brow as he’d raged in fever and agony. She couldn’t bear to look at his stump, shuddered in revulsion every time Gareth’s father begged her to visit. Finally it was Gareth who begged her to stop coming.
He didn’t think things could get blacker, but he had been wrong. His father suffered a stroke in the spring and died. It was then Gareth discovered the true financial mess his father had only hinted at, and he’d been powerless from his bed to change it.
Thank God he’d had no wife and stepdaughters to support. He could barely feed himself, Martin, and poor Cecily.
He’d survived three deaths this year and almost his own. And now he had a second chance at everything. Did Annie not recognize what was between them? She’d felt like a starling in his embrace, her feathers ruffling and pulse quickening under his fingers. She was so young and fresh, her small body lushly curved. He had a powerful, primal urge to prove to her he was still a worthy man despite his sins.
She wanted him to give up his darkest pleasure. Or was it pain? Perhaps if he had a woman by his side, he wouldn’t seek the oblivion. The pleasant taste of rum and cinnamon and tart lemon lingered, but he’d much rather have another kiss from her.
“Let’s go home. I’ll get the horses.”
He knew every jog and corner of the Silver Pony’s halls, and soon got to the stable without ever stepping foot outside.
Jim the ostler greeted him. “Afternoon, Major, there’s something you should see. Your old Penny here is breathing mighty hard.”
Gareth heard the horse before he found him in his warm dry box. “How long has he been like this?”
“Nearly since you brought him in, sir.”
“Why didn’t you fetch me from the taproom?”
“You was enjoyin’ yourself with Mrs. Chapman’s punch, wasn’t you? I thought he might stop once he got a good rest.”
It was only a few miles from Ripton Hall to the village, but Penny sounded as winded as if he’d run a steeplechase. “I’d best not ride him back. Can you take care of him for me, Jim? I’ll come back for him tomorrow.”
“Aye, sir, it would be my pleasure. Poor fellow. He’s getting older, isn’t he, like the rest of us? You’ve had him since you was a boy.”
“Very nearly.” Gareth’s father had given him his old horse once he’d been posted to Portugal as a newly-minted lieutenant. Gareth’s advancement in the army had been on merit—his father had not purchased him a commission. It would have been hard to do so as Gareth disappeared to impulsively enlist right before Bronwen’s wedding. With so many officers slaughtered in the endless wars, Gareth had moved up rapidly without the benefit of family influence or money.
People thought him brave. He knew he’d been foolhardy.
And was perhaps being foolhardy now, shackling himself for life to the elusive Mrs. Mont. She wouldn’t even tell him who she really was.
She’d come to him through
The London List,
the ton’s most influential newspaper. Copies found their way even here to this quiet corner of Wales. Well, he had three weeks to worm the truth out of her, starting now. Gareth relished the thought of riding back home with her in his lap, her hip nestled against his cock. He regretted he would be unable to “accidentally” fondle her, but Job needed firm handling and it was difficult with one hand in the best of times.
He returned to the taproom. Annie sat near the fire, her cheeks a becoming shade of pink. The patrons swiftly looked away from her once Gareth entered, and he decided now was as good a time as any to make their announcement, Ian be damned.
“I see you fellows have noticed my bride-to-be. May I present Mrs. Anne Mont? She has done me the honor of accepting my proposal.”
He’d known most of them all his life. Some had even lived on his land and worked for his father at one time, although they’d given Gareth a wide berth since August. They gawped and shuffled in their seats, tipping their caps and mumbling. Annie turned even pinker.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
More mumbling, but they got to their booted feet in response. They had better treat her with respect if they knew what was good for them, Gareth thought. She was to be the mistress of Ripton Hall, for all she imagined she’d be sailing off to Boston or some such place.
“Are we ready to leave?” Annie whispered.
“Aye. But there’s a little problem.”
Anne’s brows scrunched and Gareth stared. Her lashes and brows were gold and copper and bronze in the firelight, quite at odds with her mud-brown hair. All those freckles. She had the coloring of a natural redhead.
What would happen if he lifted her shift to see her sweet pink cunny? Would he find red curls, more freckles? He thought he’d seen red through her nightgown last night, but that could have been a trick of the light or his impaired vision. His cock surged with embarrassing curiosity.
“Penny—the horse you rode—is not breathing properly. I’m going to leave him in the stable until tomorrow, give him a rest. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride home with me.”
“On—on the same animal?”
“Don’t worry. Job can be a devil, but he won’t throw us. I’m afraid it’s the only alternative, unless you’d like to stay here overnight. We’d probably have to share a room. I understand from Mrs. Chapman that the inn is nearly full of stranded travelers.”
“Of course not! That would be—inappropriate. We’ve probably caused enough talk already. Ian said so, didn’t he?”
“Did those men bother you?”
“N-not really. They did
look
at me.”
“What red-blooded man could help himself? You are very fetching, Annie.”
“Stop being so silly.”
“Green suits you. Brings out the color of your pretty eyes.”
She rolled those pretty eyes at him, not accepting his compliment. All of her was pretty, really. He’d just been too deep in his cups to notice at first.
Tomorrow was the start of a new year. Could he face it with sobriety? Annie would be worth sacrificing his habit for. If he could gentle her into staying.
For some reason she gave him hope. It made no sense, as he didn’t know a thing about her except that she couldn’t cook and had a sharp tongue.
Though her tongue had not been sharp earlier, but moist and sweet and seductive. She’d tasted so innocent. So young. For a man who’d kissed scores of women, she was a revelation.
He led her through the rabbit warren of hallways to the stable. Jim had finished cinching Job’s saddle back on, but Annie went to the box where poor old Penny huffed and coughed.
“It isn’t strangles, is it?” she asked worriedly, patting the horse’s long red face.
“I should hope not, miss. The other horses will catch it. I believe it’s heaves—look at his flank.”
“I haven’t had him out much this winter, thinking to spare him,” Gareth said. “He’s been cooped up too long.” He watched as Annie’s gloved hand gently smoothed down the horse’s face and almost wanted to trade places with his animal, heaves or not. It was clear she loved horses.
She was a Lady of Quality. Or a Girl of Quality, he chuckled to himself. An heiress. His.
Or soon to be. If he could stop himself from being jug-bitten he might just convince her to stay and help him realize his dream.
He’d wanted to raise horses—Ripton Hall’s lands were farmed out, the soil poor. The stable block was in better condition than the house and was currently big enough for a dozen animals. He could expand it, or build another building with the money Annie had promised him. Horse breeding was a thoroughly respectable endeavor that should not bring shame to her as his wife no matter who her father was.
He wondered if she was running away from an arranged marriage to some portly sexagenarian. The ton thought nothing of tossing their virginal daughters into the laps of men old enough to be their grandfathers. Hell, Gareth himself was too old for her, and he was far from being a prime specimen. That was clear right now as he had to have Jim’s help to mount Job.
“’ere you go, miss.” In one quick lift, Annie was draped across his lap, the feather of her hat tickling his nose. His stump jerked as it was sometimes wont to do and touched her shoulder. Instead of shying away, he felt her relax into it. Snuggled. He suppressed a groan.
“I hope you are comfortable,” Gareth said tersely. God knows he was not, with her soft wool-covered rump edging against his manhood. What he’d fancied earlier was a kind of torture.
“I can take the reins, you know,” she said as Jim opened the stable door to a deluge of snowflakes. It was nearly impossible to see the road. “You might need to hold onto me so I don’t slip off.”
She’d do better astride, her skirts hiked up and her legs molded against his. But he would not suggest that. He’d be completely distracted. It was going to be hard enough to guide Job home without every inch of his needy body screaming out for her. Jim should have placed her behind him, where she could have gripped his waist and not tormented him with the green feather hovering near his nose. Instead her straight little spine rubbed up against his chest and her soft bottom was about to encounter something hard.
Blast. He’d spook her with his hunger. She’d been clear about this marriage of convenience, however inconvenient it was becoming for him. Gareth needed his wits about him to get home—Penny might do the job blindfolded but Job was a fairly recent purchase. He couldn’t fantasize about fucking her on a horse. While he was sure it could be done, a bed was much more comfortable.
“Isn’t it beautiful!” Annie cried as the snow eddied and swooped around them. He supposed it was even romantic, when he had a warm woman against him on a cold-kissed afternoon. But Gareth was out of practice romancing, so he kept his eyes on the snow-covered road.
“Aye.” Llanwyr and its environs were beautiful—he’d kept them in mind as he’d waded through Spanish mud and Indian jungles. In spring the daffodils would carpet the earth all the way from Ripton Hall to the village. He’d always brought Bronwen a bouquet of them when he came courting and she’d treated them as if he’d brought her rare orchids.
There was no point to thinking about Bronwen and daffodils. She had hurt him and suffered consequences far more vile than she’d deserved. She would never see her daughters grow to womanhood.
Why was he wasting his opportunity with Annie? She wouldn’t want a brooding bridegroom. His lip quirked—that sounded like the title of one of the silly Courtesan Court romances Cecily had left about the Hall. When she was so ill he’d ridden all the way to Hereford and bought out every one of them from the bookstore. Cecily had died before she could read them all. Maybe Annie would like reading them to while away a winter afternoon.
“Do you enjoy reading, Annie?”
“I have not had time, lately. If I am to read anything, it should be Mrs. Smith’s book.”
“Ah.” He’d forgotten he’d hired a housekeeper who didn’t know how to keep house. “We know very little about each other.”
“We will not live together long enough for that to matter,” Annie said, her posture straightening. She was no longer relaxed against him.
“We will have at least a month, will we not? Before the wedding, and then the trip to London to secure your fortune. We may as well make good use of it.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
“So you are a woman of mystery. But you won’t mind me spilling all my secrets, will you? It’s been a long while since I had a friend to talk to.” His army friends were scattered about the country—about the world, really. Since he’d returned to Llanwyr, he’d been too busy trying to save Ripton Hall and then too busy trying to lose himself. His closest boyhood friend had been Ian. For obvious reasons, there was nothing between them now but enmity.
He saw her shoulders lift in a shrug. “Suit yourself. As your employee, I expect it’s part of my duties to listen.”
Gareth laughed into the wind. “I’d hoped you’d forgo your salary as my affianced bride. We’ll need every penny to travel to London in style.”
She turned to him, her feather tickling his chin. “I don’t need style, Gareth. I should prepare myself to be careful with my money. It won’t last forever.”
He decided to play along with her plans. “What will you do with the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had time to think. Or read.”
“I suppose you’ll want a divorce after a reasonable period of time. They are devilish impossible to get, you know. I’ll have to prove your unfaithfulness. It could cost a fortune and your reputation will be ruined.”
Gareth thought he heard her say, “My reputation is ruined now.” He bent closer to hear the rest. “It would not matter if I were far away. No one would know me. I could say I was a widow again.”