The Bushranger's Wife

by Cheryl Adnams

  As he took the kiss deeper, she gasped at the exquisite wet warmth when his tongue brushed against hers. His hands slid down to her shoulders, down the side of her body, brushing past her breasts, which were aching to be held. Had her gasp forced him to touch her? She tried it again, this time with a little moan of pleasure and his arms banded around her, crushing her against him. He may be a big, strong bushranger, but she had power too, and she was learning quickly how to wield it in her favour.

  She’d read about love and lust in her books and had marvelled at how her body had warmed, how her belly had tightened and quivered at the sensual scenes in the stories. Now she was living her own sensual story and she felt those same quivers, those same head-spinning waves of—well, she supposed what she was feeling was lust.

  It wasn’t like the last time they had kissed though. It wasn’t a shock, pleasure and panic warring for space in her mind. This was a slow heating of her blood, a liquefying of her bones and then the unfamiliar but delicious tickle deep down in her intimate places.

  And it was a terrible loss when he stopped the kiss and leaned away from her.

  She opened her eyes slowly to see him staring at her with the oddest expression on his handsome features. She tilted her head and studied him. He really was handsome. Boyish features and pretty eyes would give him an advantage on the highways she imagined. And still he stared at her in silence.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ she asked, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Am I not a good kisser?’

  She heard a little laugh bubble up from his chest, felt it too as she realised just how closely she had pressed herself against him.

  ‘Miss Prudence, your kisses would undo even the saintliest of men.’

  She couldn’t help the smile of pride that formed on her lips at his compliment. ‘Frederick said young ladies don’t kiss like that.’

  He blinked at her, before pushing out of her arms and stalking away to the log again, putting his back to her. ‘You should probably go home.’

  His statement wiped the smile from her face and killed the pure joy she’d been flying on since the kiss. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned the kiss with Mr Grantham. Was Jack jealous? Was it wrong of her to hope that he was? Regardless, there was a bigger issue at stake.

  ‘I can’t go back there,’ she said, softly. ‘Ever.’

  ‘Your grandmother will be worried.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she responded, feeling her anger return. ‘She deserves to worry for what she’s done. I’ll not slink back and forgive her so easily simply because she’ll be worried.’

  ‘They’ll have people out looking for you,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be here with me alone.’

  She stepped to him, putting a hand to his stubble-roughened jaw, and turning his face to hers. ‘I want to be here, with you, alone.’

  ‘Prudence —’

  ‘I can come home with you,’ she said, cutting him off.

  The look of shock on his face would have been comical if she hadn’t been so desperate.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘That’s not a reason.’

  ‘You’re being silly again,’ he said and brushed past her. ‘Come on, I’ll escort you home.’

  Rejection burned, too close to the still raw pain her grandmother had inflicted on her just that afternoon.

  ‘I know you want me, Jack,’ she said, staying where she was as he readied the horses. ‘You want me as I want you.’

  He didn’t look back at her but the stiffness in his broad shoulders told her he was conflicted.

  She moved in and placed a kiss to his neck. His hands tightened on the reins of the horse until his knuckles turned white.

  ‘I’ve had enough lies in my life, Jack,’ she whispered against his ear. ‘Please, be honest with me.’

  He spun so quickly she had to take a step back.

  ‘Honest? You want me to be honest? Of course I want you.’

  Her heart swelled.

  ‘But you are engaged to another man. A good man, by all accounts. A man who can take care of you and continue to provide you with the life you are accustomed to.’

  She huffed and shook her head. ‘A man whose kisses are as staid and as lifeless as his personality. I do not want to marry Frederick Grantham. And you just said you want me.’

  ‘Yes, I want you. But I can’t have you. I’m a bushranger, an outlaw.’

  ‘I may not be able to make an honest man out of you, Jack. But you can make an honest woman out of me.’

  He went very still. ‘Did you just propose marriage to me?’

  A moment of uncertainty washed over her, but the more she thought about it, the more appealing her impulsive proposal sounded. She was desperate to stay gone from Carrington Manor and if she had to marry the Devil to do it, then so be it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘I did. Marry me, Jack Fairweather.’

  He stared open-mouthed at her for the longest time until he finally found his voice. ‘Prudence, you should marry someone you love. You don’t love me.’

  ‘What a romantic you are, Jack,’ she said with a derisive laugh. ‘I was going to marry Frederick Grantham. A man I do not love, a man I could never love. How many women do you know get to marry for love? At least I like you.’

  ‘High praise,’ he murmured, and pushing past her he sat heavily on the log again, staring at his boots with a scowl so deep his caramel eyes darkened. She didn’t understand his strange mood, so taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirts, she moved to sit beside him.

  ‘Jack, think of it as a marriage of convenience. We both need something. I need somewhere to live and someone to take care of me. And you need someone who can throw the troopers off thinking that Jack Fairweather has anything to do with Jack the Devil.’

  He looked surprised that she knew so much.

  ‘I read the papers,’ she explained with a shrug. ‘I know Sergeant Carmichael has arrested several bushrangers in the last months. And, by all accounts, he’s closing in on Jack the Devil.’

  She was on a roll now, so continued despite his looking at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘I am the perfect cover for you. Who would ever believe the granddaughter of an earl would marry a bushranger?’ Her heart raced, her hope dwindling with every moment that passed with not a word or a twitch of movement from him. ‘But she may marry a prominent businessman. It wouldn’t be all that bad to have a woman about, would it? I’m not fabulous at keeping house but I learn quickly.’

  He closed his eyes as though a great battle were going on inside his head. When he opened them again, she saw a different look. Not denial but acceptance.

  ‘I won’t give up bushranging,’ he declared.

  ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  ‘I’m serious, Prudence. You won’t change a man like me. It’s pointless to try.’

  ‘Is that a challenge?’ she asked, her eyes narrow and daring. ‘You think I can’t make you see the error of your ways should I decide to? Well, lucky for you, that’s not what I want anyway. I’m tired of living my adventures through books.’

  ‘Be careful of what you think you want, little girl,’ Jack warned. ‘It may seem exciting and adventurous like your books, but my life is not a fairy-tale.’

  ‘I don’t want a fairy-tale Jack. I want a life. I want a life of freedom. I believe I can have that with you. I certainly won’t have that with Mr Grantham.’

  Jack stared at her again, still weighing up the pros and cons. Then he smiled and simply lifted a hand to gently caress her face. Leaning in slowly he kissed her, softly, soundly until she felt her toes curl and her limbs melt. This marriage of convenience may indeed have some benefits. She knew for a fact Frederick Grantham’s thin, emotionless kisses would never be able to melt her limbs.

  Her head spun, even before she felt him lift her off the log and into the saddle of his horse. He climbed up behind her and leading Misha by the reins, they rode
gently in silence. Not in the direction of Carrington Manor, Prudence was thrilled to discover, but away from it. Away from all she knew, towards a new beginning.

  Chapter 7

  Back and forth he argued with himself, nearly turning the horse around to head back to Carrington Manor. But each time he resolved to do so, she would turn her head and smile at him, or lean back against his chest and he’d smell the perfume of her hair, feel the warmth of her body pressed to his.

  Did he dare to believe this would have a good outcome?

  He’d battled against his growing feelings for her since that day at the races. It was easy to tell himself back then that she was out of his league, and so it had been fun to play with her. And then when they’d met again by accident on the road, he’d enjoyed talking to her, enjoyed her company, her intelligence—a rare occurrence for him with women. But at the Christmas Ball, he’d had to admit to himself that what he’d begun to feel for Prudence Stanforth was not just some fleeting attraction. And he’d run. Knowing she was promised to Grantham had provided a sort of closure for him. She was not only out of his league, but very much out of his grasp.

  Yet, here she was. Not with Grantham, but with him. She’d talked him into taking her home with him. Home? What home? His house was a shambles. He barely lived there himself. How could he take a woman like Prudence there? How could he take any woman home to live with Jack the Devil? He’d never lived with a woman in his life. What made him think he could start now? What made her think it?

  But she was a determined little minx when she set her mind to something. Determined she may be, but despite all her bravado and her love of adventure stories, would she be strong enough to survive such adventures out in the real world? She might be the one who suggested a marriage of convenience, but did he have any right to take a lady from her safe and comfortable home and force her into a life less worthy of her and, more importantly, put her in the path of danger?

  The sun was high in the sky as they passed through the gates of his estate. He stopped the horse at the turn in the driveway where the house came into view.

  Throwing his leg over, he dismounted and helped Pru down, his hands gripping her waist as she dropped lightly to the ground. He wanted to kiss her again, desperately wanted it, but he needed to give her the time and space to change her mind.

  She walked towards the house, and he held his breath, waiting for her to realise she had made a huge mistake. His house was pleasant and well appointed, if currently filthy, and a great deal more affluent than many homes in the district, yet it was no Carrington Manor.

  ‘Welcome to Little Windsor.’

  She turned and smiled at the name and he shrugged a shoulder at his little castle joke.

  His palms were sweating and his heart was pounding in his chest with nervous anticipation. Would she come to her senses? Would she panic that she had allowed herself to be led astray, into a man’s home—not just any man’s home but that of an outlaw. The lair of Jack the Devil.

  She stared at the house with her back to him for such a long time. He wanted her to love it, but the battle raged inside him—she shouldn’t be here and he should take her home. Her silence spoke volumes and he decided to let her off the hook.

  ‘Pru …’

  ‘I love it, Jack,’ she said, turning her beautiful face to him again.

  Her smile pleased him, but he still needed to be sure.

  ‘I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind,’ he said, taking hold of her hands. He’d understand, but it would likely kill him to have come so close to having what he never thought possible. ‘I can still take you home.’

  She snaked an arm around his waist and they stood looking at the house together before she said. ‘I am home.’

  As they walked inside the house, Jack wished he’d tidied up a little. It wasn’t too bad but it needed a good sweep, and dust had collected on the dining room table and surfaces about the sitting room. At least he could be thankful no rodents had appeared as yet.

  ‘I don’t come here much,’ he said by way of an apology. ‘I stay in hotels and rent rooms around the towns. It’s just easier. And I don’t cook for myself so there isn’t much to eat, well, nothing to eat actually. But at least there are no dirty pots and pans.’

  He was rambling and he knew it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she wandered around the large house, opening every door and looking into every one of the three bedrooms.

  ‘It’s perfect. Just needs a woman’s touch, that’s all.’ She turned back to face him and rolled her eyes. ‘Stop looking at me as though I’m about to throw myself to the floor in a fit of tears and ask you to take me back. It’s not going to happen. It will never happen. You’re stuck with me, Jack.’

  Relief flooded him at her words, but he still held reservations.

  ‘You take this room,’ he said, opening the main bedroom door. A double bed sat in the middle of the room; a relatively good mattress lay between the intricate iron lace foot and head of the bed. ‘We’ll need to get some new linen. I’ll use the room across the hall.’ He would set himself up in the little cot that had occasionally been used by Bobby or Garrett.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting company, so if we are going to eat, I’d best go into town and buy some provisions,’ Jack said, wiping his damp hands on his trousers. A tough bushranger he might be, but Prudence could reduce him to a nervous wreck with just a smile. She was smiling at him now and stepped forward to kiss his cheek. Her eyes told him she wanted him to kiss her again, kiss her properly. He stepped away. Now wasn’t the time.

  They spent the next hour making lists of items Jack would have to buy in Ballarat. Not only food, but pots and pans and other kitchen utensils. New linen would have to be purchased from the Criterion store as well.

  ‘It’s a lot to carry,’ Prudence said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

  Jack knew they could not be seen together in public as people would ask too many questions. And he had no idea how to answer them. He only knew that her reputation had to be protected. Those who knew Jack the Devil would assume the worst. And, dammit, they’d be right. Her family would be searching for her and, if they found her, he would no doubt be accused of kidnapping. Christ almighty, what had he done?

  ‘No, please, make yourself at home,’ Jack insisted. ‘I’ll be back before dinnertime.’

  ‘A good thing since there’s no food,’ she teased.

  And with that he climbed back up onto D’Artagnan and headed off at pace, out of the grounds of Little Windsor.

  He looked back once to see her waving at him and his world tilted. Having her there to wave him off and welcome him home was like a miracle. It would be a miracle if she was still there when he got home. No one would find her out here in his secluded part of the world. But if she changed her mind, all she had to do was take Misha and head back to Carrington Manor.

  He shook off his elation as she continued to wave him out of the gates. No. He had to stay smart about this. She could still change her mind. After a week or two of living rough with him, she would come to her senses and ask him to let her out of their agreement. He would help her by delaying the marriage she was so insistent on having. And he resolved not to lay a hand on her during that time. It would be a battle of epic proportions, but he was determined.

  When he returned to Little Windsor, poor D’Artagnan was laden with all the food and supplies he could carry. Jack had made arrangements for larger items to be delivered to Little Windsor the next day. Unloading what he could, he stepped into the house. Prudence had been hard at work. He hardly recognised the living area when he walked in. The dust was gone, lighted candles were spread about the house now that darkness had set in. He hadn’t even known he’d had candles in the house. As the sun had dropped lower to the horizon, he’d rushed the last few kilometres, pushing himself and the horse, not wanting Prudence to be alone in the house after dark.

  ‘I don’t think it’s ever looked so clean,’ he s
aid, unloading the first armful of supplies onto the kitchen table.

  ‘I didn’t have much to work with,’ she said, squeezing filthy water out of the old rag she’d been using. ‘I don’t suppose you picked up a broom whilst you were in town.’

  ‘Didn’t think of it, sorry,’ he said, staring at her delicate hands, red from the hot water. But she didn’t seem concerned as she wiped them on her skirts. Skirts! ‘Oh, I borrowed a few things from a friend.’

  Rushing out to unload the last of the saddlebags, he returned with a package. Opening it, he pulled out a dress. It was plain as dresses went, much plainer than the granddaughter of Lady Carrington would be used to, he was sure. ‘I figured you’d need more than the dress you’re wearing.’

  She looked into the brown paper package at the other two dresses, her eyebrows going up, suspicion in the green orbs below them. ‘And which lady friend did you borrow these from?’

  ‘She’s the daughter of Mrs Barnett, the boarding house owner,’ he explained, wary of the narrowed gaze she was sending him.

  ‘And she was happy to part with her dresses for another woman?’

  ‘She’s a good Christian lady,’ Jack said. Prudence’s apparent jealousy of another woman surprised him. ‘I told her the dresses were for a homeless woman. They aren’t very fashionable or glamorous but …’

  She dropped the dresses on the kitchen table and turned to stare out the window. ‘I’m homeless. Destitute, I suppose.’

  ‘You are not homeless,’ he said, moving to put his hands on her shoulders. He turned her to face him. ‘You have a home here, for as long as you want it.’

  ‘But I left with nothing. No other clothes. Just the coat I was wearing and …’

  Her demeanour lightened as she seemed to remember something. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a purse. ‘The housekeeping money from the manor.’ She handed it to him.