The Untamed Bride Plus Two Full Novels and Bonus Material
Page 104
Slowly straightened, staring blankly across the room, then she blinked, turned her head to look outside. “Look—is that a rowboat all the way out there? Or a fishing boat?”
The children swung back to the windows, kneeling and peering out to see, arguing once they’d located the boat she meant, bobbing on the waves in the bay.
Dragging in a breath, Linnet let them good-naturedly bicker, seized the moment to find her mental feet again.
She wanted children.
She’d forgotten how much. She’d buried that want so long ago she’d forgotten how much it had ached, and for how long, when she’d made her decision not to marry.
At the time, she’d already started gathering her wards. She’d told herself that they would do, would be enough to absorb and satisfy any maternal instinct she possessed.
But it wasn’t maternal instinct that ached inside her, that made her press her fist to her breastbone, fight to draw a full, even breath.
In the instant the boys had chorused, she’d been struck by a thought—out of nowhere, yet not—a stray thought of what it would be like to look into midnight blue eyes that held that degree of mischief. To see such eyes laughing up at her out of an innocent face.
She’d wanted, for that waking instant had dreamed of, Logan’s child. Son or daughter, her vision hadn’t been specific, but the thought of a little Logan running wild …
Had made her heart ache.
Had reopened the empty, hollow cavern below her heart.
Dragging in a longer breath, forcing her lungs to function, she blinked again, straightened on the seat, then leaned to look out of the window. After a moment, she said, “It’s a fishing skiff. Can you see the nets dragging behind it? Look at the way the wake is churning.”
Linnet was very ready to accompany Phoebe and Penny downstairs when they declared it was time to attend their own packing. Penny stated that her packing was merely a matter of repacking everything she’d brought to Paignton Hall—no decisions to be made—so she and Linnet accompanied Phoebe into her dressing room.
The next hour and more passed swiftly. Linnet put aside her private cogitations and gave herself up to the novel experience of laughing and enjoying the company of like-minded ladies. Then the first gong sounded and it was time to dress for dinner.
Back in her room, she washed and changed into one of the gowns Penny had lent her. Standing before the dressing table, she unwound Jessica’s braid. Instead of summoning a maid, she elected to brush out her hair, then plait it again, this time into two tight plaits, which she could wind about her head and pin to fashion a gleaming, gilded coronet.
Being alone gave her time to think, to look back over the day, and consider all she’d felt, all that had surfaced while she’d been with the other two, already married ladies, and their children.
Most especially the children.
For all she knew she might already be carrying Logan’s child. As her earlier forays into intimacy had been so very brief, she’d ignored the risk of pregnancy, and with Logan … had forgotten to remember it. Yet their liaison had extended far beyond a single occasion, and indeed would continue.…
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t make herself view falling pregnant with Logan’s child as anything other than a blessing, a joy.
That left her feeling even more unsettled.
She went down to the drawing room early. Penny and Charles were already there, as was Deverell. Logan arrived not long after, then Phoebe came bustling in. As they chatted and exchanged stories of their day, she watched and observed—took closer note of how Charles and Deverell interacted with Penny and Phoebe, and vice versa.
Now she knew them better, she could see, detect, the very real connection that flowed between each couple. Easy affection, a touch of pride, protectiveness, and yes, even in this setting, a hint of possessiveness from the men, and a reciprocal but more open affection from the women, an acceptance and a bone-deep confidence in all their men were and would provide. If she’d needed any demonstration of what constituted a sound basis for marriage between people like them, it was there, before her nose.
As Logan fell in beside Linnet as they followed Phoebe into the dining room, he studied Linnet’s face, wondered what she was thinking. He’d noticed her watchfulness; she’d been quiet, quieter than he was used to her being, but she’d been fully absorbed and listening avidly. As if she was studying what was going on.
Holding her chair while she sat, he settled her, then sat beside her. Gave his attention to the soup that was placed before him.
Conversation waned while they all supped.
He didn’t know what was in Linnet’s mind. Didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t say at this point. They were in a hiatus—a frustrating interlude during which they couldn’t go forward, couldn’t make decisions, but had to wait for external issues to resolve before they could do anything at all.
Indeed, his whole day had been one of frustration. On horseback with Charles and Deverell, he’d ridden a wide swath around Paignton, but had found no traces of the cult. No watchers, either cultists or hired locals, no hint from the villagers around about of any sightings of unknown men.
They might have temporarily lost the cult, but, as he’d assured Charles and Deverell, they’d be watching the main roads to the north and east, knowing he’d make a dash in that direction sometime.
While they’d ridden down the lanes and over the fields, he’d had time to reassess his personal strategy, to reaffirm that showing Linnet the man he was, the man the years had made him—giving her the chance to see for herself what manner of man he was, what he’d made of his life thus far, giving her the facts on which to judge what he would bring to her and Mon Coeur—before he told her of his bastard state was the right and proper course of action.
The course most likely to succeed.
Her inclusion in the party for this last dash to Elveden meant she’d have a chance to see with her own eyes and gauge his standing, his circle of friends, his past achievements, his capabilities, even get some idea of his wealth.
He could tell her all that, recite a catalogue, but he’d much rather she saw and made her own assessment. Faster, more direct, more certain that way.
Especially as he didn’t know exactly how she would react to the revelation that he was a bastard, albeit a noble one. In wider tonnish society, he would be accepted as the man he was; he wasn’t in the same boat as the average bastard whose mother hailed from the lower orders. In his case, his mother, too, had been from one of the highest families. His position was more like that of old Lady Melbourne’s children, all of whom where widely regarded as having different fathers, none of whom was Lord Melbourne.
Society accepted him, always had, but would Linnet? Some people had more difficulty overlooking a bastard birth than others.
He didn’t think Linnet would consider his birth a problem, but as he set down his soup spoon, he inwardly admitted that, cravenly, he didn’t want to take a chance.
He’d faced guns and cannon, led charges in battle, yet she, was now so important to him that he didn’t want to take even the slightest risk of her rejecting him, not if it was in any way avoidable.
So he’d wait until the end of the mission to break that news to her. Aside from all else, from tomorrow morning on, his mission would take precedence, and he and she would necessarily put all personal matters aside.
Phoebe looked down the table at her spouse, then glanced at Charles. “Well, I expect you two better explain the arrangements you’ve put in place for our journey to Elveden.”
Logan inwardly grinned as Deverell and Charles obliged.
The three of them had spent the afternoon making the necessary preparations—selecting the coachman who would travel with them, provisioning the carriage they would take. Then Charles and Deverell had turned their attention to the two other carriages that would carry Penny, Phoebe, and the children on their journey east, organizing drivers, guards, and weapons.
The thought niggled. He glanced at Linnet, on his right; she was absorbed with the discussion, silent but watching. He let his gaze linger on her face, on the delicacy beneath the determination.
Something in him stirred; he looked away before she felt his gaze.
She should be kept safe, too—he should keep her safe, just as Charles and Deverell were so focused on keeping Penny and Phoebe safe.
Inwardly frowning, he couldn’t help but wonder if keeping her with him—and so knowing she was safe, thus relieving his anxiety on that score—was the best arrangement for her—or only the best arrangement for him.
He was still inwardly frowning when, dinner concluded, he rose with the other two men and followed their ladies to the drawing room.
They all retired relatively early. Their plans for the morrow called for a departure before dawn, at least for the three men and Linnet. Penny and Phoebe would be up and about, too, to fuss over their husbands, then wave them all on their way.
Linnet stood by the window in her bedchamber, consciously seizing the moments before Logan joined her to take stock—to fix in her mind just where he and she stood before they embarked on a journey that would be, she suspected, akin to running a gauntlet. They would run, and the cult would attack; from all she’d heard of the men’s assumptions, that was how they expected the next days to unfold.
No time, not the right time, to make any decisions about him and her, yet she didn’t want to fetch up at journey’s end with no clear idea of where they were, what questions still loomed, what next she needed to do.
He’d declared he wanted to marry her, that that was his adamant intent. Her initial reaction had been that she could never be the sort of wife he needed, yet after spending time with Penny and Phoebe and watching Charles and Deverell, seeing and sensing how such marriages worked, she’d jettisoned that stance. She could, if he wished and she wished, be a suitable wife for him.
Assuming she could meet his ultimate expectations, his specific requirements; that was an issue they hadn’t discussed, but would have no time to address now.
Staring out at the night, she pulled a face. Indecision wasn’t a state she appreciated, but she couldn’t decide if she could fill a position without knowing what the specifications were, before she understood what said position entailed, yet any such discussion would have to wait until his mission was concluded.
Aside from that caveat, as far as she could see there was only one hurdle remaining, and while it was a major one, on, multiple levels, addressing it before deciding to accept his suit was pointless.
The one thing she could no longer do was refuse to seriously entertain his suit. Not after today, not now that she knew—to her bones and her soul finally appreciated—all he would offer her.
Quite aside from the virgin queen no longer having to remain an all but virgin into her old age.
Children. She had never considered having children with any other man. Still couldn’t imagine it. Only with Logan. With Logan … she could, and if she married him, God willing would, fill that aching, empty hollow that resided below her heart.
She heard his footsteps outside the door, swiftly reviewed her thoughts. Inwardly nodded. As far as she was able, she knew where she stood.
Reaching up, she drew the curtains across the window. Turning, she waited while he came in, saw her, closed the door, then crossed the room to her. She’d left a candle burning on the dressing table; in the soft light, she saw he was … not exactly frowning, yet the expression was there in his eyes. “What is it?”
He looked surprised that she’d asked, then allowed his frown to materialize. “I was just thinking …” Halting before her, he grimaced, then slipped both hands into his breeches’ pockets and looked down. “I was thinking perhaps you would be safer going with the other ladies.”
She blinked. She might well be safer going with Penny and Phoebe—but what about him? “No.” Lips setting in what she’d been told often enough was a mulish line, she caught his gaze as he looked up, and shook her head. Decisively. “Absolutely not. I’m going with you.”
His lips thinned. “But—”
“No.” Turning, she stalked toward the bed. “No, no, no.” Swinging around, she pinned him with her gaze. “You carried me off my damned ship, in full view of my crew, for heaven’s sake—and yes, I know you bent them to your misguided, will by convincing them it was safest for me to go with you—but that doesn’t change the fact that it was your idea that I come with you, travel with you to your mission’s end. And so now, no. You do not get to change your tune.” Lifting her chin, she held his gaze. “I’m staying with you, traveling with you, until your mission ends, and that, as far as I’m concerned, is that.”
He studied her for a long moment, then his brows rose. Drawing his hands from his pockets, he walked slowly toward her.
Halting before her, he looked into her face.
His eyes were still troubled.
“You’re absolutely certain that’s what you want—to face whatever risks we might have to run?”
She searched his eyes, hearing inside the resonance between his mission and their lives—their putative future that yet lay unresolved. Whatever risks we might have to run. The same question applied in that sphere, too.
Was her answer the same?
She didn’t know, but she knew her right answer here and now.
“Yes. I’m absolutely sure.”
Slowly, he nodded. “All right.”
His expression didn’t ease.
In a flash of insight, she understood his problem. “Stop worrying.” Reaching up, she wound her arms about his neck, stepped closer. “This is my decision, and you’ll be there, by my side all the way, in case I need rescuing.”
Stretching up against him, feeling his arms instinctively rise and close about her, she looked at his lips, let her own curve, then, looking up through her lashes, met his eyes. “Just remind yourself of how grateful I might have to be if you do indeed rescue me.”
He sighed, gave in. Bent his head. Whispered across her lips in the instant before his brushed them, “As long as you’re safe.”
“I will be,” she whispered back. “You’ll be there.”
She kissed him on the words, and he let her, let her for once lead the way. Let her please herself by pleasing him, then he gently took the reins and returned the pleasure.
In full measure.
Reiterated, not in words but in deeds, in devotion, with passion and desire fueled by hunger and need, the truth of all he’d told her, that she was the woman he wanted, the one above all he coveted, that she was, to him, all.
All he wanted, all he would ever need.
Much later, when she lay sated and boneless beneath him, her fingers idly riffling his black hair, she saw deep inside a truth she had until then overlooked.
He was everything she had ever wanted, and all she would ever need.
Thirteen
December 18, 1822
The road from Paignton Hall to Exeter
They encountered the first ambush five miles from Paignton Hall. Thick fog blanketed the coast. The carriage’s sudden appearance out of the murk surprised eight sleepy cultists camped beyond the ditch; they scrambled to form up across the road, a human barrier waving short swords.
The coachman, David, whom Linnet concluded Deverell and Charles had chosen for his reckless enthusiasm, whipped up his horses and drove straight for them. Yelling, screeching, the cultists scattered, leaping and tumbling back into the muddy ditch.
Linnet saw open mouths and stunned faces as the carriage rocketed past.
“Well, that was uneventful.” Charles resheathed his sword, settled back into his corner,
and closed his eyes.
Inwardly shaking her head, Linnet tucked her cloak more snugly over her red traveling gown, and with her cutlass riding comfortingly against her hip, settled in her own corner, diagonally opposite Charles. Deverell sat across from her, Logan alongside.
They’d left Paignton Hall in the icy chill an hour before dawn. Phoebe and Penny had stood on the steps and waved them away; the pair’s absolute confidence as they’d farewelled their husbands with assurances that they would all see each other shortly at Elveden had been infectious.
A good omen when heading out to face villains.
“I counted five on this side,” Deverell murmured.
Linnet glanced at him.
“Three this side,” Logan said.
“Which,” Charles concluded without opening his eyes, “makes eight—which just might be cause for concern.”
“If they had eight men to set watching a minor road like this …” Deverell met Logan’s eyes. “Another group before Exeter, do you think?”
Logan nodded. “More than likely.”
“In that case, we’d better make ready to start reducing the enemy’s numbers.” Opening his eyes, Charles stood, reached up to the rack above Linnet’s and Logan’s heads, and lifted down four small hunting crossbows and a handful of quarrels. “That, after all, is the main purpose of a decoy mission—to draw out and weaken the enemy.” Handing the bows around, he asked Linnet, “Can you fire one of these?”
She took a bow, examined it. “We have arbalests, big ones, on board, and I can fire those when they’re mounted, but this”—she tested the weight—”is light enough for me to hold, so yes.” Accepting the small winch used to load the bow, and a few quarrels, she raised her brows. “I might even be able to reload it.”
Resuming his seat, Charles loaded his. “We shouldn’t need to reload immediately, not unless they manage to halt the carriage. If they hunt in packs of eight or thereabouts, then if we each down one, that should be enough to get us through their next roadblock.”
“They won’t know it’s us, not until they look into the carriage.” The carriage was one of Deverell’s, built for speed as well as comfort, but anonymous and unmarked. Deverell set his loaded crossbow on the floor. “If we obligingly slow, when they wave us down, wait until they’re close enough, then drop the windows, fire, and David springs his horses immediately, we’ll be through.”