Patricia Rice (22 page)

“You fret too much.” Lady Taubee waved her fork dismissively.

Mac snorted.

“We take care of our own here,” the old lady warbled
on. “Now, when shall we set the date? I’m sure the curate can send for a
special license. We must do this with all due pomp and circumstance,
you know. Bea ought to have a new gown. The queen was married in the
loveliest white gown. I’d love to see you wear white, Bea. And if only
Smythe could find those doves, I’m certain—”

“I would look a freak in white, Aunt,” Bea murmured.

“Nonsense, child! It’s all the fashion, and you
shall look charming. How long do you think it would take to send to
London for some patterns? We could have it made up here and save time.
Instead of doves, perhaps we could—”

“It’s Bea’s wedding. I think she should be given
full choice in what she wishes to wear,” Mac said with just enough
menace to garner the attention of both women. Bea looked startled, and
he smiled reassuringly at her. “I know nothing of fashion, but I’ve been
told you have a marvelous sense of it. Send for whatever your heart
desires.”

Lady Taubee
hmphed
her disapproval, but Bea was looking at him with such wide-eyed wonder that Mac couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“I like blue,” she said with a trace of defiance,
watching him. “Silver-blue, with a minimum of lace to here.” She
recklessly pointed to a place on her high- necked bodice that indicated a
décolletage that would have him following her about like a lovesick
calf.

He grinned in ecstasy at the image. “That sounds perfect to me.”

At the blatant look of hunger he bestowed on her,
she blushed and returned to picking at the mangled food on her plate.
Mac decided he would enjoy being married to a woman with the same
wickedness pouring through her veins as poured through his.

He was fortunate indeed to find the only woman in
all England who was so fresh and unspoiled that she didn’t even know she
should be outraged at his uncouth behavior. Better yet, she
enjoyed
it.

All misgivings fled before brash desire as he turned and winked at Lady Taubee. “Set the date, my lady, but make it soon.”

***

A week after that humiliating discussion, Bea’s
nerves had frayed to tatters. Pacing the fading carpet of her
bedchamber, she tried to pull herself together. She needed to go down
and listen to her aunt and Mrs. Digby plan her wedding breakfast, but
she still couldn’t accept the enormity of the fact that she was actually
having
a wedding breakfast.

In two days’ time, she would be married.

She wrung her hands and paced some more. It was all happening too fast.

She glanced out her double-wide window to the
courtyard below, where Mac played with his niece and nephew. Buddy was
climbing a tree, and Bitsy was sitting on Mac’s shoulders, doing her
best to rip his hair out by the fistful. Bea’s heart twisted in agony at
the scene. He would make a wonderful father.

Except that he wouldn’t be here to make a wonderful
father. He would be in Virginia. Or on his ship. Or anywhere but here.
She tried to tell herself it was no different from being married to a
sailor, but she knew better.

She was out of her mind. She’d received a second
ominous letter from the bank inquiring about immediate payment, and she
didn’t know what to do about it. If she showed it to Mac, would the
extent of her debt horrify him? Would he demand that she sell the
estate?

The only reason Mac had agreed to this ridiculous
farce was because he thought he’d be free to come and go as he pleased,
and that she would be happy to see the back of him when he went.

She’d be even happier if he’d go now.

He’d treated her with all due respect this past
week, keeping a proper distance. They both knew what happened when they
kissed. It was far too dangerous an activity under these uncertain
circumstances.

She paced away from the window and the view of Mac’s
broad back and golden brown hair. In two days’ time, he would be her
husband. He’d have expectations. And then he would leave to cross the
ocean, and she might never see him again.

No, she couldn’t marry him. It would be quite cruel
and unfair to learn the duties of a wife, only to be abandoned. She was
far better off not knowing what she would miss.

Below, a cart rumbled up the drive. They hadn’t
invited anyone but the closest neighbors to the wedding, so they didn’t
expect company. It must be one of the many deliveries her aunt had
ordered.

Bea admired the magnificent icy blue bridal gown
hanging on her wardrobe door. The Miller sisters and the seamstress had
spent the week working on that gown. It had arrived just this morning,
made of silk that Mr. Smythe had already had in his shop. It was the
loveliest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Even she might look
beautiful in a gown that shimmered with tiny pearls and a delicate
flowered net special-ordered from London.

She swung back to the window at the sound of Mr.
Digby’s voice coming from below. Mr. Digby was so enraptured with his
inn that he could scarcely be persuaded into church on Sunday. What was
he doing out here?

She watched as her former butler said something that made Mac’s expression go grim.
Oh, dear. Not now. Please don’t let anything happen to those children now
.
She could think of no other reason for Mac to look as if he might turn
and flee at this very moment. He’d been remarkably easygoing about the
wedding preparations. He hadn’t even complained of being trapped into
marriage, although he’d looked a trifle hunted upon occasion, when her
aunt tried to pin him down on details.

Without thinking what she did, Bea picked up her
skirt and raced down the hall and stairs. People still called him Mr.
Warwick, but sooner or later everyone would know that wasn’t his real
name. He’d had to tell the curate his full name for the special license.

What if the earl had returned? The viscount would
tell him who had stolen his grandchildren. The coincidence of a
MacTavish appearing here with two small children in tow would be too
much to overlook. They were an isolated village, and news of London
didn’t travel through frequently, but anything was possible.
The Carstairses!
The Carstairses had gone to London. They hadn’t known Mac as MacTavish, though.

As she raced out the front door, Mac gave her a
tight facsimile of a smile, and Digby looked relieved. Sweeping off his
hat, he bowed as much as his portly stomach would allow and murmured
something about checking on his wife.

As Digby departed, Mac dropped Bitsy into Bea’s
arms. “The viscount apparently has men posting flyers in the village and
across the countryside, offering a reward for my whereabouts. The flyer
doesn’t mention the children or why I’m wanted, and uses the name
MacTavish and not Warwick, but the description was sufficient for Digby
to report it to me. There aren’t many men my size hereabouts.”

“Oh, my.” Bea hugged the babe and let Bitsy pat her
cheeks as she stared up at Mac. “What shall we do now? Why didn’t the
viscount mention the children?”

“To keep his father from knowing they’ve gone
missing, I suspect.” Mac shoved his hand through his hair, further
tousling his already tousled curls. Despair haunted his eyes. “I could
pack them up and leave right now, take them to the train station in
Evesham and be gone before anyone knows it.”

“And where would you go?” she demanded. “If you run, everyone will know you’re the man they’re hunting.”

Returning his attention to her, he nodded as if he’d
already reached that conclusion. His expression grave, he drew his
knuckle down her cheek. “If I stay, there’ll be no escaping this
marriage. Are you certain it’s what you want?”

Here was her chance to say no. He’d just made it
clear she would be marrying a wanted criminal, one who would have to
flee sooner or later. She buried her face in Bitsy’s sweet-smelling neck
and tried to imagine returning to the bleak, gray life she’d led before
Mac and the children had arrived. Arguing with James and worrying over
coins had been the high points of her week.

She couldn’t turn back time. Shaking her head, she
met his gaze. “Our wedding will be the event of the season. No one will
give a mind to those silly flyers. They’ll laugh and speculate and throw
them out and drink to our health. We don’t have much opportunity for
celebration around here. You’ll see. Our wedding will be all that’s on
anyone’s tongues for weeks.”

Mac nodded and solemnly accepted her assessment.
“Then I’ll do my best to make you and everyone else proud. I may do all
the wrong things upon occasion, but I try to do them for all the right
reasons.”

Amusement welled up in her. “I’m sure it’s all the
right reasons that have you marrying me,” she agreed. “Obviously you’re
marrying me because you’re generous, honorable, and noble and would not
let a plain spinster waste away for naught.”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Aye, and far from
ravishing you to show you what you’ve been missing, I’ll generously,
honorably, and nobly make a respectable woman of you first. And
then
I’ll—”

“Don’t you say it; don’t you dare say it!” Cheeks
burning, she shoved Bitsy into his arms and fled, Mac’s laughter
following her as she ran.

Oh, my.
She’d done it this
time. In two days she would marry a man she hardly even knew. Papa had
been right: she was bungling everything terribly, just as he’d always
said a woman would.

The organ groaned to life and began a solemn march
Mac had been told had been played at the queen’s wedding. They could be
playing “Hail to the Queen” for all he knew.

He nervously crumpled the brim of his top hat as he
stood at the altar and waited for his bride to walk down the aisle. The
vicar had arrived from Evesham, and Mac thought his smile looked
sympathetic, as it would be for a man who was condemned to hang. How had
a simple business trip turned into a wedding ceremony?

He definitely
wanted
Bea.
But marriage? How the hell would he tell his family he’d leaped before
he looked again, and married a bride who lived an ocean away?

Bitsy and Buddy bounced from one lap to the other in
the front pew. All the ladies of the village were taking turns watching
the little hooligans. They were dressed in all their finery, Bitsy in
white lace and Buddy in blue satin, with lace and bows and their angelic
smiles and curls to adorn them. Bitsy had already ripped the white
ribbons off her lacy cap, and Buddy had lost a button off his jacket.

Would Bea still want him when he returned from Virginia without the children? That thought preyed constantly on his mind.

As did an even deeper concern—would Bea still want
him once she understood the bestial nature of men? She’d been raised
without the benefit of an understanding mother, and he wondered if she
had any idea what to expect from him tonight.

He was terrified that one way or another, he’d make
her cry. He didn’t want to hurt her at all, but he didn’t see how he
could help it.

As the church doors opened, Mac handed his hat to
Overton, who’d agreed to stand up with him. His heart or his lungs or
some vital organ hung in his throat as Bea entered. She was so
beautiful, he couldn’t breathe for awe. Gleaming russet braids rolled up
and decked with tiny white roses framed her pink cheeks and shining
brown eyes. A spill of frail lace covered the curls piled on top of her
head. And the gown...

Mac took a deep breath before he expired on the
spot. She’d promised to cut the neckline down to there, and she had. The
glorious curve of her breasts rose high and full above the shimmering
blue bodice. How would he survive until tonight? What imp of hell had
enforced laws requiring a man to marry in the morning? Why hadn’t he
thought to arrange a carriage to the next town and an inn where neither
of them were known?

Actually, he had thought of that, but Bea hadn’t wanted to leave home.

The delicate scent of lilacs engulfed him as she
arrived at the altar, and he took her hand into the crook of his arm.
She felt perfect beside him. He needn’t bend to hear her words, nor fear
he’d break her in two with his rough hugs. She didn’t shy away from his
crude kisses. Physically, they were a perfect match. And since the
physical was all he wanted of this marriage, and all she seemed to
expect, he told himself that he had no real reason to fear the vows he
was about to make.

He listened patiently to the vicar’s drone,
responding firmly when called upon, and heard with pleasure the musical
tones of Bea’s replies. She had a lovely voice when she chose to use it.
Tonight he would hear her soft cries of pleasure for his ears alone. He
would willingly delay his departure for months, with this woman to keep
him company in bed.

He’d had to ride to Cheltenham to obtain the ring he
slid on her finger now. As Bea placed a matching band on him, Mac felt
the familiar sensation of a noose tightening, and he fought to keep from
tugging at his neckcloth. Still, the ring didn’t look too bad there,
and the smile she bestowed on him was worth every minute of terror. He
couldn’t remember any other woman ever looking at him with such
happiness.

The vicar had informed him that sealing the marriage
with a kiss was not part of the traditional service, but when the
moment came, Mac couldn’t resist. How could he vow “till death do us
part” without sampling what he vowed to keep? Bea smiled blissfully when
he bent to brush her lips with his, and he would have dived in way over
his head if she hadn’t tugged at his sleeve.

He looked up blindly as a disturbance broke out in the front pew.

Buddy scrambled from his captors and raced up the
aisle to haul on the long skirt of Bea’s gown. “My Missy,” he announced
firmly.