The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (11 page)

“What do you mean?” she asked, a hint of fear tingeing her tone.

He shook his head, but said nothing. Convincing Gwen to marry him would be difficult. Though many women wished to
bed
a rake, how many truly wished to
wed
one? Gwen would not, certainly. She had made it plain that her own attraction to him appalled her. But it was inescapable fact that they
must
marry. What she
wanted
was of little significance.

He was not looking forward to her ire. She would despise him for what he must do. But he must be cruel only to be kind.

CHAPTER TEN

Over the next couple hours, they ate supper in silence, and drew water again—in silence. The tension between them was palpable, and it was driving her to distraction. She wanted him, of course she did. But she wasn’t so brave that she could have an affair without the prospect of marriage. A marriage she certainly didn’t want—not with a man like Matthias, who found himself with a different woman nearly every week.

It was late when the rain finally stopped. They sat in the parlor, each focused on their individual tasks. She’d found supplies to mend her ripped hem and sat in the chair by the fire, entirely focused on each tiny stitch. Matthias sat on the sofa, his long frame leaning against the backrest, a book in his hand.

The scene was tranquil, almost…domestic. Is this how married life would be? Quiet nights by the fire, safely tucked away in their home, quiet and content?

She looked up from her stitching and stared at him. There was something weighing on him. He’d been broody and silent ever since she’d broken their kiss earlier. Was he angry with her?

“Something has been troubling you,” she finally said. “Tell me what it is.”

Glancing up from his book, he stared at her for a moment—clearly deciding whether or not to take her into his confidence. She held her breath, hoping he would.

At length, he released a breath. “I fear I must do something soon that will make an enemy of someone I care for.”

“How very cryptic,” she said. “Can it not be avoided?”

He broke his gaze, glancing back down at his book. “I am afraid not.”

“If you tell me what it is, perhaps I can help,” she hedged.

“There is nothing to be done for it,” he said, not looking up from the pages of his book. “A solution has already been worked out. It is only the reception of said solution that concerns me.”

“Is this about your newfound title?”

No response.

Now that he was an earl, there were likely to be a myriad of responsibilities vying for his time. Not to mention maintaining the Earl of Hastings’s vast estates. It was one of the largest, most breathtaking parks just outside of London. She’d toured it once with her aunt, and had been taken aback by its sheer uncompromising beauty.

“Whatever the challenges, you are up to the task. I’m certain of it.” She could offer no more comfort than that, unfortunately. She hadn’t any idea what inheriting an earldom might entail

He ran his hand over his face. “I wish I were as certain about that.”

“Is your new title the reason you are so eager to marry?”

“
Eager
is a bit of an overstatement,” he said. “But yes, it plays a part in my reasoning.”

She sucked in a breath and nodded. Visions of Matthias walking into a ballroom with his elegant, flawless wife—whoever she might be—assailed her, and inexplicably she felt a sharp pain in her chest.

“Well, I hope your future wife has a patient character,” she said sharply.

“And what might that mean?” he growled back.

She shrugged. “Only that she will need a strong constitution if she is to be married to you—what with your appetite for widows and ballet dancers.”

It was impolite to speak of such things—but she couldn’t help herself. She was curious. How would he respond to such accusations? Though one could hardly call them accusations.
Observations,
more like. Even the gossip rags had commented on his propensity toward unscrupulous females.

“What makes you think I would continue such associations when I am married?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Intuition, perhaps.”

His jaw clenched, and she had the sudden sense that she’d offended him. “You know me so well, do you?”

“Better than most, I would say.”

He nodded slowly.

“I see,” he said stiffly. “And you could never countenance such a husband, I gather.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Is that so difficult to believe? That a woman would not countenance a man who fancies philandering?”

“It’s commonplace for a man to dabble
elsewhere on occasion.”

“Regardless of the destruction it causes…” she finished.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “It sounds as though you are speaking from experience.”

She swallowed. “Perhaps.”

“Tell me.”

He was quiet and uncompromising, offering her no polite way for her to decline. Rules and propriety had no place in her relationship with Matthias—he wouldn’t allow it. He always wanted the unabridged truth.

“There is nothing to tell, really. My parents are only truly alive when they are tormenting each other, and infidelity is often their preferred weapon. My father delights in parading his mistresses under my mother’s nose—lavishing them with attention, buying them gifts. My mother retaliates by spending weeks away from home, presumably with her own lovers.”

She paused. “Sometimes…I think the reason my father despises me so much is because he suspects I’m not truly his daughter.”

Never before had she told anyone that long-held secret. She didn’t dare look at Matthias, for fear of seeing the horror on his face. Admitting such sordid secrets about her family, about her own possible parentage, was unthinkable. And yet, it felt like a release to share her suspicions with someone.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and unaffected. “And what do you believe?”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes and her throat felt thick. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said as the tears began to fall. It was as though her confession had broken an invisible barrier and all of her emotions came rushing out. Pain. Fear of the truth. Utter humiliation. “I don’t know.”

“Surely your mother has given you some indication…”

She shook her head again, pain piercing her anew. “She won’t speak of it. When I ask her, she waves me off.” She wiped her cheeks, but the tears continued to fall. “I look nothing like my father, so I fear…I fear his suspicions are true. That his anger is warranted.”

Her father could be anyone, in truth. According to her aunt, in the years before Gwen’s birth, her mother had taken many lovers—a painter, a servant,
two
dukes. She was endlessly searching for love, she’d said.

He put his book down. “Come here. I know all too well the pain parents can cause. My mother was not kind.”

She glanced up at him then, and to her relief, she saw only compassion in his striking blue eyes. Rising to her feet, she walked to him and fell into his lap. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She wept into his shirt as he pressed his lips to her hair, stroking her arm gently.

It was several moments before she was able to collect herself. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel a great burden has been lifted. Though I can only imagine what you must think of me now.”

Was the unburdening of her secret worth his disdain? He’d thought she was a lady—
everyone
did. In truth, she was nothing more than a bastard parading as a gentleman’s daughter. And if society ever discovered the truth, she would be a pariah.

“You do me a discredit. How could I think less of you for something that is so far beyond your control? You cannot be faulted for your origins any more than the sky can be faulted for being blue. If there is blame, it is your mother’s to bear, not yours.”

She sucked in a breath and hiccupped. Since she was a child, crying had always given her the hiccups. “Just the same, I wouldn’t blame you for reconsidering our acquaintance.”

Though it would feel like a spear straight to her heart, she meant what she said. She wouldn’t blame him. They were all prisoners to society’s stringent rules. There was nothing to be done for it.

He took her chin and tilted her head up, so she was looking at him. “I’ve come to reconsider many things in the last two weeks, but our connection is not one of them.”

She released a relieved sigh.

“But
you
may come to regret our connection at the end of all this.” His lips twisted up into a faint smile, but she had the unmistakable feeling that his words were not a quip, but a warning.

“What do you mean?”

He released her chin. “Only that our decisions have long-lasting consequences, and we must abide by them.”

She stiffened. “Yes, you said something of the kind earlier. Care to explain that sentiment?”

“You made a choice when you stepped into my carriage, Gwendolyn, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not. I made an equally disastrous choice when I decided not to expel you and insist you return home.”

Wiping her damp cheeks, she slid off his lap and stood.
Disastrous.
He regretted this—whatever was happening between them. Of course he did. None of this was what he’d wanted. Evelyn had run off, compelling him to follow, and Gwen had kidnapped him. He was stuck here with her. Whatever attachment she’d imagined they were forming was simply a product of their forced proximity. Nothing more.

She straightened and wiped her remaining tears away. “Yes, I comprehend your meaning fully.”

He reached for her. “Gwen, wait.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I am just tired. A good night’s sleep is all I need.”

But a moment later when she walked up the stairs and crawled between the coverlets, the weight of this entire debacle pressed down upon her, and she could do nothing but cry.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was late into the third day when the weather finally cleared.

Matthias wasn’t wasting any time. Packing what little food they had remaining, he and Gwen set out for town on foot—following the long, winding dirt road that led—
presumably
—into town.

“How much farther do you suppose it is?”

He turned and glared at her. Her hair was mussed, the hem of her skirts was caked with mud. Despite her disheveled appearance, she looked incredibly enticing. “Perhaps you could tell me. I was unconscious when I last passed through here.”

She had the decency to look abashed—which was precisely his aim. Though as soon as his aim was accomplished, he felt an odd pressure in his chest.

“You can cease with the judgment. I had no choice,” she said.

“There is always a choice, Gwen. You chose wrongly. Indeed, you most likely helped your friend to her own ruin—while also facilitating your own. A rare accomplishment.”

As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Her beautiful blue eyes welled up, though he could tell she was struggled to remain unaffected. Blinking back the tears, she gathered her skirts in her fist and began walking faster.

Silence stretched between them until they arrived in Selwick. Thankfully, the sun had yet to dip behind the horizon. A single muddied road stretched out in front of them with small cottages situated on either side. A posting inn stood at the very end of the road.

Inside the inn, a fire burned in the hearth, offering warmth. Though the rain had stopped, cold wind had cut through their thin layers like a knife. He knew Gwen must have been nearly frozen solid, and yet she hadn’t uttered one complaint during the three-mile walk.

“Take a seat by the fire while I find the innkeeper and make arrangements,” he said.

She didn’t argue—though he didn’t suspect she would. Without a word, she moved into the empty taproom and found a chair directly in front of the fire.

At length, he found the innkeeper and arranged for someone to return to the cottage and pick up their luggage, then take Gwen and Matthias back to Gretna Green—in the hopes that there would be word from either Stephen or Evelyn.

It was dawn the next morning when they finally arrived in Gretna Green. Tendrils of orange and pink sunlight stretched over the horizon, casting the landscape in an almost otherworldly glow. Gwen nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her warm body pressed to his side. She’d fallen asleep some hours ago and he regretted having to wake her now.

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the inn, and the driver came around to open the door. Cold air swept inside the small compartment and he felt her shiver beneath her thick wool cloak.

He lifted her off him gently. “Gwen,” he whispered. “We’ve arrived in Gretna Green.”

She shifted her weight, moaning faintly. The delicate sound sent blood rushing straight to his cock. If he heard that sound every day of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough. It was quickly becoming addictive.

“Wake up, love.”

Blinking open her eyes, she looked up at him. “Have we arrived?”

“Indeed, we have.”

After she’d roused herself, he stepped out of the carriage and helped her alight. The sleep-drenched look in her eyes did nothing to quell his desire. What he would give to drag her upstairs and curl up with her in one of the inn’s narrow beds.

Inside the inn, warmth from the lit hearth washed over them. At this early hour, no one was yet awake—save the innkeeper, who was already beginning work. He met them at the front door.

“Welcome, welcome. Yer back. Come in out of the cold, Mr. Smith. Will ye be needing a room?”

“Yes. It would do us good to get a bit of proper sleep before heading back to London. Were there any messages left for me?”

The innkeeper started to shake his head, but then seemed to remember, lifting his finger. “Oh, yes.” He pulled a folded note out from under the counter and handed it to Matthias. “This was left for ye some days ago.”

Matthias opened the letter and read it carefully.

M—

I have discovered Evelyn, Stephen, and the maid. We are for London, and will meet you there directly. I am entrusting you with G—’s care.