The Heiress Bride (8 page)

 

My brothers will kill me, she thought as the closed carriage bowled through the dark night toward the Reading road. Colin was sleeping beside her, exhausted. She leaned over and lightly kissed his cheek. He didn't stir. She tucked the blankets more closely around him. He was quiet, his breathing deep and even. Excellent, no nightmares. It still surprised her that the illness had so weakened him. But it didn't matter now. He would be well again, very soon, particularly since she would be the one to see to him.

She loved him so much she hurt with it. No one would ever come between them. No one would ever harm him again. It is my life, she thought, not Douglas's or Ryder's or anyone else's. Yes, it's my life, and I love him and trust him and he is already my husband, my mate in my heart.

She thought of her mother and how she'd managed to grind poor Finkle under just that afternoon, and sailed into Colin's bedchamber like the Queen's flagship. Colin had grinned as he'd told Sinjun that her mother had stood there, eyeing him for the longest time, and then she'd said, “Well,
young man, I understand you want to marry my daughter for her dowry.”

Colin smiled at Joan's mother and said, “Your daughter resembles you greatly. She's lucky, as am I. I must marry for money, ma'am, I have no choice in the matter. However, your daughter is beyond anything I could have expected. I will take good care of her.”

“You speak with a honeyed tongue, sir, and it is entirely acceptable to me that you continue doing so. Now, pay attention to me. Joan is a hoyden. You will have to find some way to control her pranks, for she is quite good at them; indeed, she is known far and wide for them. Her brothers have always applauded her escapades, for they are imbeciles when it comes to proper feminine propriety. It is thus your responsibility now. She also reads. Yes, I am being truthful to you, I feel I must. She
reads
”—the dowager drew a deep, steadying breath—“even treatises and tomes that should rightfully be covered with dust. I am not responsible for this failing. It is again her brothers who haven't shown her the correct way to comport herself.”

“She truly reads, my lady? Tomes and such?”

“That is correct. She has never bothered even to hide her books beneath her chair when a gentleman visits. It is provoking and I try to scold her, but she only laughs. What could I do? There, I have told you the truth. Joan may suffer for it if you decide her character is too malformed for you to wed her.”

“It will be my problem, my lady, as you said. I will ensure that she reads only those things I deem appropriate for a young wife.”

The dowager countess beamed at him. “This is excellent. I am further pleased that you don't speak like a Scottish heathen.”

“No, ma'am. I was educated in England. My father believed that all Scottish nobility should speak the King's English.”

“Ah, your father was a wise man. You're an earl, I understand. A seventh earl, which means that your title goes back a goodly way. I don't approve of newcomers to the peerage. They're upstarts and believe themselves to be equal to the rest of us, which, of course, they're not.”

He nodded, his serious expression never faltering. The interrogation had continued until Sinjun had flown into the room, gasped, then said firmly, “Is he not handsome and terribly clever, Mother?”

“I suspect he'll do, Joan,” the dowager countess said as she turned to face her daughter. “He has come to rescue you from a spinster's fate, thank the good Lord. Were he ugly or deformed or obnoxious of character, I should have to refuse him—though it would be a close thing, since you grow older by the day, and thus fewer gentlemen want you for their wife—but our consequence would demand it. Yes, this is a good thing. He is handsome, although too dark. He resembles Douglas. Odd that neither you nor Alexandra seems to mind. Now, Joan, you will not allow him or yourself to fall into slovenly Scottish ways once you return to that
place.
I am glad you brought him here to the house. I shall visit him every day and teach him about the Sherbrookes and his duty to you and to our family.”

“I should be charmed, ma'am,” Colin said.

That had gone off splendidly, Sinjun thought, calming her breath. She'd been scared to death when Finkle had told her that her mother had descended upon Colin. She saw that Colin was grinning at his own cleverness, and she leaned down and kissed him. “You did well with her. Thank you.”

“I outlasted her, that's all. And I heaped her coffers with Spanish coin. She likes Spanish coin.”

“It's true. Neither Douglas nor Ryder is much in the habit of flattering her. She misses it. You did well, Colin.”

She wanted to kiss him now, but she feared to awaken him. There would be time, all the time in the world. By the time they reached Scotland, by way of the Lake District, she would not be a virgin any longer, she was planning on that. A girl couldn't elope with a gentleman and emerge unscathed. She would ensure that she was very well scathed indeed. Their marriage, once in Scotland, would be a mere formality.

Sinjun slipped her hand beneath the blanket and closed her fingers around his hand, a strong hand, lean and powerful. She thought of his wife, a woman now dead. She'd asked him nothing more about it, and she wouldn't. If he wished to tell her more about his first wife and how she had died, he would. Sinjun wondered what her name was.

She also wondered if she would ever tell him that her brother had spoken to her of the letter long before she'd gone to his room. She'd even read it, twice. She'd argued only briefly with Douglas, knowing well he was worried about her, and knowing as well that she must argue with him, else he would be suspicious. Oh yes, she'd agreed with him, yielding to his demand that the marriage be postponed until the charge of murder could be resolved. All the while she was determined to elope with Colin that very night. Perhaps Colin would find out that it had been she who had maneuvered him into making his elopement suggestion, perhaps sometime in the misty future.

It was a pity that she must hold her tongue when it itched to be nothing more than truthful, but she
knew men abhorred the notion that they could be manipulated. The thought of a woman managing them sent them into a rage. She would spare his male pride, at least until he was completely well again. And perhaps until he came to care for her. For a moment, the thought of telling him the truth made the misty future look on the dark and gloomy side.

“W
E ARE ONLY
going as far as Chipping Norton, to the White Hart,” Sinjun told Colin when he stirred. “We will be there in another hour. How do you feel?”

“Bloody tired, dammit.”

She patted his arm. “You didn't say that with much heat, Colin, which means you're probably a good deal more than tired; you're exhausted, what with all our hurrying and sneaking about. But you'll get your strength back more and more each day. Don't worry. We won't be to Scotland for another six days as best as I can figure it. You will have plenty of time to mend.”

Because it was dark inside the carriage Sinjun couldn't see the irritation in his eyes, and it was there, for he felt helpless, unmanned, like a small child in the care of a nanny, only this nanny was just nineteen years old. He grunted.

“Why in God's name did you pick the White Hart?”

She giggled. An unexpected sound from a nanny, Colin thought with surprise. “It was because of the stories I heard Ryder and Douglas telling Tysen, and he was appalled, naturally, since he was studying to be a man of the cloth. Of course Ryder and Douglas were laughing their heads off.”

“And none of them had any idea that you—the infant daughter of the house—were eavesdropping.”

“Oh no,” she said, waving her hand airily as she smiled. “No idea at all. I got quite good at it by the time I was seven years old. I have this feeling you know all about the White Hart and how the young gentlemen at Oxford spent many evenings there with their light-o'-loves.”

Colin was silent.

“Are you remembering your own assignations?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. The wife of one of my dons used to meet me there. Her name was Matilda, and she was so blond her hair was nearly white. Then there was the barmaid at the Flaming Dolphin in Oxford. She was a wild one, insatiable I remember, loved the feather ticks at the White Hart. Then there was Cerisse—a made-up name, but who cared? Ah, all that red hair.”

“Perhaps we shall have the same bedchamber or bedchambers. Perhaps we should simply hire the entire inn, to cover all the possibilities, so to speak. A symbolic gesture of your sown wild oats.”

“You're a very inappropriate virgin, Joan.”

She looked at him closely. The moon had finally come from behind thick dark clouds, and she could at last see his face. He was pale, she could see that, and looked dreadfully pulled. The fever must have been more devastating than she'd thought to have left him so very weak. “You don't have to worry about merely sleeping next to me tonight, Colin. You can even snore if it pleases you to do so. I don't mind being a virgin until you have all your strength back.”

“Good, because that's what you're going to remain.” He felt the rawness in his thigh and wondered why he yet cared that she shouldn't
know about it. It didn't really matter, not now.

“Unless, of course,” she said, leaning closer to him, her voice dropping to what she hoped was a seductive whisper, and wasn't at all, “you would like to tell me how to go about accomplishing what it is that should be done. My brothers always accused me of being a dreadfully fast learner. Would you like that?”

He wanted to laugh, but ended by groaning.

Sinjun was forced to assume that was a no, and sighed.

The White Hart stood in the middle of the small marketing town of Chipping Norton, comfortably set in the Cotswolds. It was a fine, very picturesque Tudor inn, so old and rustic Sinjun felt charmed at the same time she was praying for it not to fall down around their ears. So this was where many of the young men came for their trysts. It did look rather romantic, she thought, and sighed again.

There wasn't a soul to be seen, for it was three o'clock in the morning. Still, Sinjun was far too excited to be tired. She'd managed to escape her brother, and that was no mean feat. Sinjun was out of the carriage in a trice, giving orders to the driver, a man of few words, bless him, and big pockets to hold more guineas than she'd planned to pay him. But she wasn't at all worried. If she ran out of money, she'd simply sell her pearl necklace. Nothing was more important than Colin and getting herself safely wedded to him. She turned to help him down from the carriage.

“You'll be in bed in a trice. I'll go in if you'd like to wait here, Colin, and—”

“Hush,” he said. “I will deal with our ostler. He's a dirty old lecher, and I don't want him getting the wrong idea. Damn, I wish you had a wedding ring.
Keep your gloves on. You are my wife and I will see to things.”

“All right.” She beamed at him, then frowned. “Oh dear, do you need money?”

“I have money.”

Nevertheless, Sinjun dug into her reticule and pulled out a sheaf of pound notes. “Here. I would feel better if you keep it.” She gave him a sunny smile.

“Let's get this over with before I fall on my face. Oh yes, keep your mouth shut.”

It was as they walked across the quiet, dark courtyard that Sinjun noticed how badly he was limping. She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

Ten minutes later Sinjun opened the door to a small bedchamber set under the dark eaves and stepped back for Colin to enter first. “I think the ostler believes we lied,” she said, not at all concerned. “But you did very well with him. I think he's afraid of you. You're a nobleman, and thus quite unpredictable.”

“Aye, he probably did think I lied, the fat old carp.” Colin looked toward the bed and nearly moaned with the pleasure that awaited him. He felt her hands on his cloak and stilled. “I doubt he'd recognize a husband and wife if he attended their wedding.”

“Let me help you.” She did, efficient as a nanny, and it irritated him, but he held still, just looking at that bed. He wanted to sleep for a week.

“If you will sit down I'll pull off your boots.”

That was soon done. She'd had enough practice with her brothers. Sinjun stepped back. “Shall I do more?”

“No,” he said. “Just turn your back.”

She obligingly did as he bade, removing her own shoes and stockings, hanging up her cloak and his
in the small armoire provided. She turned back when she heard the bed creak. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, the covers drawn up to his bare chest. His arms were at his sides, on top of the blanket.

“This is all very odd,” she said, chagrined that her voice sounded so much like a maiden's, all skinny and scared.

He didn't answer her and she was emboldened to continue. “You see,” she said slowly, “it's true that I am rather outspoken, I guess you'd say, but my brothers have always encouraged me to speak my mind. So it was the same with you. But now, well, it feels strange, being in this room with you, and I know you don't have your clothes on and I'm supposed to climb in on the other side of that bed and—”

Her monologue was interrupted by a low rumbling snore.

Sinjun had to laugh at herself. All her soulful meanderings, only for her and the armoire and a sleeping man. She walked quietly to the bedside and looked down at him. He was hers, she thought, all hers, and no one would take him away from her, not even Douglas, no one. Murdered his wife! What arrant nonsense. Lightly, she stroked her fingertips over his brow. He was cool to the touch. The fever was long gone but he was still so very weak. She frowned, then leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Sinjun had never slept with anyone before in her nineteen years, particularly a man who was large and snoring, a man who was so perfect to her that she wanted to spend the rest of the night looking at him and kissing him and touching him. Still, it was strange. Well, she would get used to it. Douglas and Alex always slept in the same bed, as did Ryder and Sophie. It was the way married people did things.
Well, except perhaps for her parents; and truth be told, she wouldn't have wanted to sleep in the same bed with her mother, either. She crawled in next to him, and even from nearly a foot away, she could feel the heat from his body.

She lay on her back and stretched out her hand to find his. Instead her hand found his side. He was naked, his flesh smooth and warm. She didn't want to leave that part of him, but she did. It wouldn't be fair to take advantage of him when he was asleep. She laced her fingers through his. Surprisingly, she was asleep very shortly.

Sinjun awoke with a start. Sunlight was pouring through the narrow diamond-paned window. It certainly wasn't the crack of dawn. On the other hand, to get strong again, Colin had to sleep, and a bed was preferable to the jostling he got in the carriage. She lay there a moment, aware that he was beside her, still sleeping soundly. He hadn't moved, but then neither had she. She realized then that the covers weren't tucked up about his neck, where they were supposed to be. Slowly, knowing she shouldn't but unable not to, she turned and looked at him. He'd kicked the covers off and they were tangled around his feet. As for the rest of him, he was there in the bright sunlight for her to see. She'd never before seen a naked man, and she found him as beautiful as she thought she would. But too thin. She stared at his belly and his groin, and at his sex nestled in the thick hair. His legs were long and thick and covered with black hair. He was beyond beautiful; he was magnificent, even his feet. When she finally forced her eyes away from his groin—a difficult task, for she was frankly fascinated—she blinked at the white bandage around his right thigh.

Of course the fever alone hadn't been responsible
for his continued illness. She remembered that damned limp of his the previous night. He'd been hurt somehow.

Anger and worry flooded her. She'd been a fool not to suspect that some other injury was at work here. Why the devil hadn't he told her?

Damnation. She scrambled off the bed and pulled on her dressing gown.

“You wretched man,” she said under her breath, but it wasn't under enough. “I'm your wife and you should trust me.”

“You're not my wife yet and why are you bleating at me?”

His jaw was a stubble of black whiskers, his hair was mussed, but his eyes were alert, such a deep blue that she forgot to speak for a moment, content just to stare at him.

Colin realized that he was naked and said calmly, “Please pull the covers over me, Joan.”

“Not until you tell me what happened to you. What is this bandage for?”

“The reason I was so ill was because I was knifed, and like a fool, I didn't see a physician. I didn't want you to know because I could just see you tearing London apart with your bare hands to find the villain and bring me his head on a platter. Now we're out of London so it doesn't matter. You're safe from yourself.”

Sinjun simply looked at him. He had a point. She would have been greatly incensed, no doubt about that. She smiled down at him. “Does the bandage need to be changed?”

“Yes, I suppose so. The stitches need to come out tomorrow or the next day.”

“All right,” she said. “I'll do it. The good Lord knows I've had enough practice with all of Ryder's children.”

“Your brother? How many children does he have?”

“I call them his Beloved Ones. Ryder saves children from dreadful situations and brings them to live in Brandon House. There are about a dozen children there right now, but one never knows when another will arrive, or when one will leave to go to a family Ryder has carefully selected. Sometimes it makes you cry, Colin, to see a little one battered by a cruel drunken father or just left in an alley by a gin-soaked mother.”

“I see. Get yourself dressed, but first cover me up.”

She did, reluctantly, and he found he was chuckling. Never in his life had he met any female like her. Her interest in his body was embarrassing it was so blatant.

Sinjun solved the privacy problem with a blanket hung over an open armoire door. She didn't stop talking to Colin while she dressed. While she was eating her breakfast, she watched him shave. She volunteered to help him bathe, but that treat was denied her. Again, she was ordered to pack their things, her back turned to him. He did, however, allow her to look at his thigh. The wound was healing nicely. Sinjun lightly pressed the flesh around the stitches. “Thank God,” she said, “I was so afraid.”

“I'm fine now. It's just a matter of building back my strength.”

“This is all very strange.”

He eyed her, the flamboyant girl who didn't seem to have a fear of anything or anyone, who looked at the world as if it were hers to rearrange and reshape just as she wished. Life, in his brief experience, had a way of knocking that out of one. He found himself rather hoping it wouldn't be knocked
out of her for a good long time. She was strong, no fluttering miss, and for that he was grateful. A fluttering English miss would never survive Vere Castle and all its denizens, of that he was sure. Just then he saw a hint of panic in her eyes, and it was that small sign of vulnerability that kept him quiet. She would find out quickly enough.

Then she was laughing and smiling again, even at Mr. Mole, the ostler of the White Hart. When he made a leering comment to her as they were leaving, she merely turned to him and frowned. “It is a pity, sir,” she said, “that you must needs be so disagreeable and show so little breeding. My husband and I stopped here only because he is ill. I assure you that we will never come here again, unless he is ill again, which is unlikely because—”