To Wed a Scandalous Spy (14 page)

The presence of the strange scarred man he didn't understand at all. All he could think about was that Willa was safe.

When Willa stopped shuddering in his arms, Nathaniel pulled back to look into her face. He pushed her hair back with both hands, searching for any sign of injury, but aside from a thorough wetting she seemed in excellent shape.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the only sound she made was a harsh croak.

"What happened to your voice?"

"She screamed it away," grunted the man on the ground. "Seen it before in the hospital. Wounded soldier'll scream his voice clean gone before he dies."

Nathaniel turned to him. The fellow was a mess. Scarred face, bad arm, bad leg. He'd been in the hospital, likely a soldier himself. This veteran had paid a true price for his country. "Who are you? How did you end up in the water with Willa?"

" 'Twas me that startled her in the first place. Didn't mean to, but she didn't hear me coming. I tried to help her, but I can't swim the way I once could," he said bitterly.

It briefly crossed Nathaniel's mind to wonder if the man was from Wakefield, but even if he was, he wouldn't have been present for the mudslinging.

Concern for Willa drove the thought away. Nathaniel tucked her under his arm. "Let's get you in front of a fire, wildflower." He shot a suspicious glance at the man. "You are welcome, too, if you like." If his tone was grudging, he was in no mood to apologize for it.

"Don't mind if I do."

Once Nathaniel had built a hasty fire, Willa sank gratefully down before the flames. He'd brought Blunt's blanket to drape about her shoulders, and Willa took comfort in the familiar homey smell of horse. She couldn't shake that near-escape, exhausted, sickly feeling. The water had chilled her, but it was devastating fear that had taken the strength from her knees. She was shaking in reaction to the discovery that Nathaniel Stonewell meant more to her than she'd ever realized.

Her hair dripped water down her face… or was that a tear? She wasn't much of a weeper normally, but the last few days had been rather trying. She was probably due a good howl.

Only she didn't want to howl. She wanted to climb onto Nathaniel's lap and wrap her arms around his warm solidity so that she could prove to the part of herself that was still afraid that he was just fine.

Nathaniel was brushing out the horses close by, standing where he could clearly see her and the fire. She smiled, warming at his protectiveness, although she didn't think the stranger was particularly dangerous.

The fellow wasn't much improved by his wetting. With his wet hair slicked away from his face, one could see how very gaunt he was. His eyes flicked to meet hers, and the silence grew as he gazed at her unblinking.

He could be a daunting sight, she supposed, for he was a big man, as tall as Nathaniel and likely as broad when he wasn't starved.

She felt no smidgen of fear of him.

The man moved to the side of the fire where Nathaniel had put the kettle. Without taking his eyes from hers, he poured some tea into a tin traveling cup and brought it to her.

"I'll take that." Nathaniel stepped between them. The man faced Nathaniel eye to eye for a moment, then backed down, handing over the tea.

Nathaniel brought the cup to her, kneeling beside her. Without a word, he wrapped her shaking hands around its warmth. She drank it willingly enough, winced at the heat in her throat.

Never taking his eyes off them, the stranger moved silently back to his place on the other side of the fire.

Willa could almost hear Dick and Dan now.

What is he?

He was a fine and faithful wolfhound, she decided. A splendid creature once. And through no fault of his own, he had been tossed out to fend for himself. Look at him, even now expecting a kick from her.

He was very interesting and she could have happily spent time pestering him with unwanted questions, but the sick feeling was easing at last, leaving only exhaustion and the burning desire to look at Nathaniel for long hours at a stretch.

Finally, the horses were ready and Willa was as dry as she was going to be. Even damp and wrinkled, her sprigged muslin was the best she had left. She kept Blunt's blanket about her, for the evening was not growing any warmer.

Nathaniel helped her mount the exhausted mare, then turned to the stranger. "My thanks, sir. I'm glad to see you have recovered so quickly," Nathaniel said.

The other man watched, his bearded, scarred face expressionless. There was something about him…

It wasn't the scars that bothered Nathaniel, but there was something dark burning just behind the man's eyes.

Still, pity for him and respect for anyone who had sacrificed so much for his country kept Nathaniel from probing further. These days, the world was full of the battered, the armless, the legless. And the dark. This fellow wouldn't be the first veteran to walk away from the battlefield damaged within as well as without.

Nathaniel decided that the man bore watching. "Do you live near here, Mr.—?"

"Day. John Day." The man offered nothing more, simply watching Nathaniel closely. When Nathaniel nodded for him to go on, he seemed to relax a bit. "I'm on my way to London. There's a man there who owes me."

Not surprising. Most anyone traveling to London from the north would be on this road.

And the fellow had risked himself to help Willa. His speech might be common, but the fellow definitely had the instincts of a gentleman.

Nathaniel let his suspicions go. Scarred beggars in Wakefield were not his mission. Foster was.

Mounting Blunt, Nathaniel reined the gelding around and moved back toward the road. He lifted one arm in a wave, but the man simply watched them ride on.

Willa tried to call out a farewell, but nothing came out but an airy rasp.

Her voice was gone. How annoying! Just when she needed it the most to convince Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Reardon, that nothing in the world, certainly not a mud bath, would ever make her leave him.

It was already dusk when they entered Mayfair. The fog had risen to shield anything interesting from view. Instead, the street merely noised about them, becoming a blurred haze of gaslight and lanterns.

Eventually, they began traveling down progressively quieter streets, until the loudest noise was the dripping of the trees and the occasional squalling cat.

Sometimes Willa could hear music and laughter coming from the houses on either side of them, houses that were mere shadows punctuated by amorphous blobs of light.

A carriage came alongside them for a moment and Willa realized that the fog had thinned, for she could see the fine horses and the ornate emblem on the carriage door. The inhabitants of the vehicle could also see her now, and she heard distinct sounds of alternating indignation and snide laughter.

Nathaniel didn't seem to notice or, if he did, to care. Taking her cue from him, Willa stared straight ahead, despite her curiosity.

"I declare," a female voice drawled, "I think Lord Treason has a new mare!"

A male voice answered her. "And a white horse, too!"

This sally was met with many a tittering giggle, and then the carriage outpaced them and they were alone on the street again.

Willa was nodding a bit when the mare abruptly took a left turn, and almost slipped from the saddle. Then she spied their destination and almost fell from her perch in truth.

They were at the end of a long drive leading to a grand house. It was huge and in the hazy remnants of the fog seemed to be floating a few feet above the earth. Its windows were ablaze with light, and Willa had to wonder at the candle consumption.

As they rode closer, the house only became grander. She could see more detailed carving above every window, more intricate stonework on every corner.

Lord Reardon, indeed.

By the time Nathaniel and Willa entered the meticulously swept turnaround, the massive carved doors of the house opened slowly and a figure stood silhouetted against the light.

Nathaniel stopped and stared up at the house as if he didn't much want to enter the place he had dragged her to so vehemently.

Personally, Willa was done with riding. She managed to kick her exhausted legs free of the stirrup and pommel and slide from the saddle on her own. She pulled the small satchel that held her immediately necessary possessions from behind the saddle and limped aside as a footman stepped forward to take the mare away. Willa wearily smiled her thanks, but the footman only slid her a wary glance.

Hoping the mare was going for a rest, Willa stifled a yawn of her own and caught up with her husband. She came abreast of Blunt as the figure from the doorway came forward. From his livery and entirely arrogant expression Willa took him to be the butler.

Moira had warned her about butlers. The butler set the tone for all the servants in the house.

Nathaniel dismounted finally and absently handed Blunt's reins to the groom. He sent the gelding off with an absentminded pat on a great haunch. When the horse was past, the butler stood before them. He bowed quickly. Willa wasn't an expert on that sort of thing, but it did seem a rather forced, shallow bow.

"Welcome home, my lord. We were not expecting you."

"Hammil, the rooms are all lit." Nathaniel said quietly. "I take it that the family is still in residence?"

Family
? Startled, Willa turned to look at Nathaniel, who was still gazing up at the golden light pouring from the very many windows. He looked at once grim and wistful.

Nathaniel had family? Willa was too weary—and voiceless—to question him now, but later…

Imagine, bringing her here, looking like she did, without a word of warning to anyone, to meet his
family
.

He was going to pay for that. Later.

She could, however, clear her throat, pointedly if somewhat raspily, to remind Nathaniel of her existence. He sent her a rueful glance. "My apologies. Hammil, this lady is my fiancée, Miss Trent. Please see that she gets the finest of attention."

The butler sent her a shocked look before his supercilious control returned. He bowed again. "Of course, my lord."

Hammil gestured sharply to one of the footmen to take Nathaniel's burden, then turned briskly away.

Any further thought on the subject of Nathaniel's preoccupation was drained from Willa's mind when the grandeur around her began to sink in.

The entrance hall was so large that Willa felt as though she were a pea in the bottom of a bowl. An imposing staircase wrapped round the room and swept upward to a domed ceiling, which was frescoed in clouds and beaming cherubs wearing scanty attire.

"Oh dear," she murmured—whispered—to herself. "All the way to heaven by stairway? No, thank you, I'd rather take the usual route."

"Madam?"

Willa pulled her eyes down to meet the gaze of the butler. The fellow was so stiffened by his own importance that he likely had trouble tying his shoes.

Where had Nathaniel gone? He had disappeared while she had been distracted by the ceiling. She was left with only the butler.

He looked at her with such heavy-handed politeness that she felt the urge to rap him with her satchel for his rudeness. She pulled herself as tall as possible and raised a questioning brow. Then she held her satchel out for him to take.

His eyes narrowed at her obvious challenge. She waited, reminding herself to project inborn aristocratic expectation.

The butler considered her stance. His gaze lingered on her ruined, wrinkled gown for a moment, then traveled to her satchel. Then he returned his gaze to hers in a staring contest of wills.

Willa nearly smiled. She always won staring contests. Something about her blue eyes always did them in. She settled in for a nice long battle, for Hammil looked as though he was quite used to his role as despot.

The butler broke almost immediately. She was almost disappointed.

He took the bag from her with only the tips of his gloved fingers and gestured ahead to the sweeping staircase.

Willa knew she looked a sight, but then she often did. Moreover, she refused to give this snide fellow the satisfaction of her acknowledging it. Raising her chin, she cast him an imperious look and swept majestically up the gilded stairs.

It would have worked marvelously if she hadn't run out of breath halfway up. Mercy, but her legs were stiff. Willa forced herself to ignore the houseman's twitching lips and pulled herself up each step by the glass-smooth railing.

At the top, she waved him on while she tried to hold in her panting. Heaven suddenly didn't seem like such an inappropriate theme for the ceiling, for the stairs were bound to kill her.

She was led down an elegantly appointed hall to one of many polished doors. The butler turned the knob with one hand as he gestured her through with the other.

It was the most beautiful room Willa had ever seen, like a golden chalice filled with cream, and she wanted nothing more than to indulge herself forever in it. Ivory draperies hung from the gilt frame of the enormous bed. Soft wheat gold carpets waited for her step, and the cream silk of the bedcovers called her to sink into them until the aches of her long journey leeched away.
Oh, yes please
.

Her knees went weak at the thought, and Willa fought the involuntary closing of her weary eyes in order to gaze at the heaven surrounding her.

A fire glowed merrily in the vast hearth. And before it, centered on the stage of the marble hearth, stood a copper tub being filled to the brim by industrious footmen.

How had they done this so quickly? She had only just then stepped into the house. She knew a bit about hired help. The efficiency and thoroughness of the Reardon household brought Nathaniel's wealth home to her in a way that no amount of pretty furnishings ever could. She heard a faint sniff behind her and turned to catch a fleeting look of disdain on the butler's face. He was thinking she hardly dared step foot in the room for fear of dirtying the carpets, apparently.

Anger began to curl through her stomach, heating away the weariness she'd been experiencing. How unkind of him. She was a guest in this house, no matter her state, and a guest should never be made to feel inferior. She was a lady and the wife of a gentleman. She deserved to be treated as such. Any guest deserved to be treated as such.