“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a gentleman, highness. Just a man, and a common-born one at that.”
She huffed in frustration. “Yes, as you keep reminding me. Pointlessly, I might add. I know who I married, and it wasn’t a pugilist.”
“Oh, but it was. Look down your nose all you like, but I earned money with my own two hands. Whatever it takes, I intend to do the same until the day I die.”
She blanched, suddenly visualizing Reed’s lifeless body in a coffin. Tears pricked her eyes. She could lose him when their lives were just beginning.
How was it possible that she’d finally fallen in love, only to have such a fragile thing threatened to be stripped away from her?
“If it matters to you”—if I matter to you—“I don’t want you to fight anymore.”
“There’s no other way.”
“Because Sterling’s will fail? Or is this more about manly pride and your need to prove yourself to your patrons?”
He didn’t answer, though a muscle ticked along the hard edge of his jaw.
Ainsley laid a hand against her bare throat, wishing she’d worn a fichu today. She felt vulnerable without it. “And when will this fight happen?”
“Upon our return.”
And he never thought to mention this to her, either.
Somewhere along the way between London and Knightsbury they’d become intimate strangers to each other.
“Very well then. We should return as soon as possible. That way you can take care of what matters most to you.”
His fists clenched at his side. “We have a good amount of daylight ahead of us and Smith can have us home by nightfall.”
* * *
The journey to London was fraught with silence. The two of them occupied opposite sides of the carriage, and stared—unseeing—out opposite windows.
Reed thought he’d glimpsed the shimmer of wetness against Ainsley’s lashes, but she’d turned away too quickly, settling into the corner of the carriage with her eyes closed. Even so, he’d wanted to haul her into his arms at least two hundred times and tell her that everything would be fine in the end.
But that would be a lie.
He didn’t know how it was going to end. He’d thought enough had changed between them that they could move past the things that had always kept them apart.
Not anymore.
Obviously, they were destined to live on opposite sides of the street.
Glancing across at her now, he saw that she’d drifted to sleep, her head lolling awkwardly to the side, her back wedged into the corner. She had one hand on the cushion, but the other rested over her midriff as if she was thinking of the child they may have created together.
Drawn to her side by a force he could no more deny than his own name, he moved to the other bench. With care, not wanting to disturb her, he tucked her against him so that she could sleep more comfortably.
Resting her head on his shoulder, she stirred but didn’t awaken fully, and murmured, “Are we home yet?”
“Not yet, highness,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her head.
Chapter 29
“No; do not pity me till I reached Highbury . . .”
Jane Austen, Emma
It was late into the evening when the carriage arrived in London. Neither Ainsley nor Reed mentioned the fact that she had slept in his arms for the latter half of the journey. And she would never admit that she’d been only pretending to sleep for the past hour or more.
Instead, they entered the townhouse together, a tense silence between them.
Mr. Clementine opened the door and greeted them with a respectful bow and felicitations on their marriage. Before Ainsley could utter a word or enquire about the household, Reed pulled him aside and asked all the questions that had been waiting on her tongue. Used to seeing to these matters herself, it was difficult to stand apart as if she were a stranger in her own house.
Even so, she kept her ear to the conversation, unwilling to be shut away.
In short order, she learned that repairs had been made, the painting around the door trim completed today, the two new maids were efficient, and the footmen were ever-so-grateful to be given the opportunity.
In the brief exchange, it became clear that Reed had hired men who’d attended the dinner she’d plotted—back when she’d still intended to ruin him. Though once more he’d found a way to turn her trick into something good.
This gave her a glimpse of the man she thought she’d fallen in love with, further confusing her turbulent thoughts.
Hearing the shuffle of footsteps on the stairs above, she turned to see Uncle Ernest rushing down in his pale blue banyan and slippers, his silver-sand hair mussed, his lapis-blue eyes wet.
Before she could utter a word, he pulled her into his surprisingly strong embrace, a tremor rolling through him. “My dear, Ainsley, I am so overjoyed to see you that I can hardly put it to words. I’ve been distraught since discovering what happened and my regret is insurmountable. I should have been here when you needed me.”
“No,” she said, returning his fierce embrace. “It wasn’t your fault at all. You couldn’t have known.”
“I am grateful that Mr. Sterling arrived and set matters aright. Had he not been—”
“Mr. Sterling has been generous to us during the ordeal,” she interrupted.
“And you have married,” her uncle said quietly, his uncertain gaze flitting from Reed to her. “Are you . . . content with your situation?”
Well, there is little I can do about it now, she thought wryly.
Yet, with all things considered, it was better that she’d married Reed. What did a broken heart matter when she had the agency to manage?
“Yes,” she lied after a moment, only then realizing that Reed’s conversation with Mr. Clementine had concluded and her husband was now standing off to the side, waiting.
Uncle Ernest turned to him and shook his hand, expressing all manner of gratitude until Reed cut in that they’d had a long day. Understanding, her uncle left them to sort out a matter of their own—the sleeping arrangements.
Briefly, Ainsley wondered if Reed would leave her and go to Sterling’s instead. But then, without a word, he gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. They walked together in the strained silence that seemed like a permanent fixture between them.
The corridor was filled with the muffled sounds of their footsteps and the unmistakable, too-sweet odor of new wood and fresh paint. The scent always reminded her of the last days she’d lived in her childhood home, with her mother’s coffin in the parlor. And looking into her own bedchamber, her gaze settled on the chest at the foot of the bed.
A chill stole over her and she rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them.
“He won’t return,” Reed said quietly, standing near enough for her to feel the heat from his body, tempting her to draw closer. He even angled toward her as if expecting her to take a step.
Doubtless, he would enfold her into his strong embrace. But she resisted, needing to rely on her own strength instead of his. Rebuilding the barrier between them seemed the only way to protect the susceptible organ beneath her breast.
After waiting a moment, Reed expelled a breath. “I posted men outside before we left, and they’re working together so there won’t be any chance of being blindsided.”
“And have you any news on Teddy?” she asked, having learned that he was the one who’d given Nigel the bruised eye.
Reed nodded. “The doctor said that, fortunately, Teddy’s head was harder than the brick that felled him.”
A brick? It shouldn’t surprise her that Nigel had resorted to any means to win.
She looked again into her chamber. It had been scrubbed and polished, every surface gleaming warmly in the firelight, every piece of furniture repaired to look as if nothing had happened.
Then her gaze settled on the new rug that lay on the floor, where the blood had been. “Do you think the servants ever found the cat?”
“Mr. Clementine just informed me that she was found at Sterling’s. Injured, but alive,” Reed said softly.
Ainsley felt tears prick her eyes, again, overwhelmed with gladness. Without thinking, she nearly reached for his hand, but stopped herself in time.
Reed expelled a slow, even breath. “She has always been a fighter.”
“Perhaps we could see her tomorrow, unless”—Ainsley hesitated—“you intend to go to Sterling’s tonight to see her and to take care of your business.”
“Finch and Raven are managing the hell in my absence. With there being so few carriages out front, they do not have need of me. And since I want to look over the townhouse, regardless, I intended to remain here.”
He didn’t ask her preference, she noticed. Her spine stiffened. At the very least, he could have discussed it with her. But this was only another reminder of how little her opinion mattered. “You may choose from any of the guest rooms.”
Indigo spheres hardened to marble, a muscle ticking along his jawline. “Then I will take the one nearest yours. That way, if you have need of me, I shall be close by.”
“I’ll fare well on my own. I’ve done so before,” she said curtly, then stepped into her bedchamber.
The instant the door closed, she sagged against it. Then all at once, a sob broke free. She stifled it with her hand. But the terrible ache she’d been holding back for so long broke through the dam and escaped in a deluge down her cheeks.
* * *
Reed had his hand wrapped around her door handle for a full five minutes. In that time, he didn’t hear her stir a single step, but saw her shadow linger below the door. He imagined her on the other side, doing the same as he, waiting. Debating.
But in the end, neither one of them moved to reclaim the ground they’d made at the cottage.
Theirs was now a war of attrition.
Chapter 30
“Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable . . .”
Jane Austen, Emma
If yesterday had been the longest day of her life, then last night had surely lasted two lifetimes.
Ainsley had not slept at all, so she dressed early and made her way downstairs. She knew that Mrs. Darden would give her far more information about how the household was faring than Mr. Clementine had offered to Reed.
After being smothered with affection by Mrs. Darden and Ginny, and patted on the shoulder by Mr. Hatman, Ainsley had met the new servants and found them to be amiable and eager. Dotty and Bea were sisters who shared the quirk of finishing each other’s sentences. Ralph and Ben did not speak very much at all, but were square shouldered and ready for their tasks.
They were the servants that she would have chosen, if given the opportunity. Yet another commonality she shared with Reed—along with stubbornness.
Her stomach growled as she entered the paneled breakfast room. It had been yesterday morning since she’d last eaten. They’d stopped at the same coaching inn for a change of horses and a meal, but with her thoughts in turmoil, she hadn’t eaten a morsel, much to her husband’s displeasure.
Even now, looking at the heavy steaks, kidneys, and eggs on the buffet, she lost her appetite. Nevertheless, she was pragmatic enough to know that she needed something, and settled for a slice of toasted bread.
Ainsley looked at the perfectly golden hue with a rueful grin, recalling her own foray into the world of toast making. And in that precise instant, Reed strode into the room.
Always alert, his gaze instantly swept over her form, glancing at her plate. For an instant, their eyes met and held.
Knowing that they were sharing the same memory of the ruined breakfast and the scandalous bath that preceded it, her cheeks saturated with heat.
Abruptly, she turned back to the buffet.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked from beside her.
“Splendid,” she lied. “And you?”
“Not splendid.”
She shifted from one foot to the next, unable to think of a suitable reply. So instead, she motioned to the door and began her excuses. “I usually eat in my office and work during these hours, so I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal.”
He slid her a dubious look. “Ainsley, there is no reason to avoid each other. We have matters to discuss, and the sooner they are settled the better.”
She hiked her chin, her vertebra aligning one by one. “It was not a tactic of avoidance. I truly do eat in my office each morning.”
“Then perhaps,” he said through clenched teeth, “you can make an exception this time.”
Before she could respond, Briar swept into the room in a flurry of pink and let out a gasp. “You are home, after all. When I didn’t find you in your office just now, I became frantic with worry all over again.”
See? Ainsley thought as she arched her brows at Reed. “You needn’t have worried. All is well, as you can see for yours—oof!”
Briar leapt forward and embraced Ainsley, nearly knocking the plate from her grasp. It would have fallen, too, if Reed had not rescued it from her hand in time.
“I’m so glad you are home and safe and sound,” Briar murmured into Ainsley’s fichu. Then she drew back and searched her gaze. “But all is not well. It is clear to me now that you have been putting on a brave show for quite some time. You never once mentioned that Mr. Mitchum was so . . . changeable. That must have been the reason you ended your betrothal. Yet you needn’t have kept it to yourself. I have two perfectly good ears, even if one has a brown mark from Jacinda burning it with the curling tongs.”
Ainsley was not used to being scolded by her youngest sister, but understood that it was meant with affection. She was about to say as much when Jacinda suddenly rushed in. And, spotting Ainsley, stopped abruptly.
“You weren’t in your office and I thought—” Jacinda broke off, her panting breaths coming up short. Then she, too, launched herself at Ainsley until both of her sisters where squeezing the life out of her.
Of course, Ainsley used the opportunity to cast a haughty look to Reed, who rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. After filling his own plate—and hers, she noted—he sat down at the table, just as Briar’s husband, Nicholas, strolled in carrying a tray overladen with steaming scones. One already in his mouth.
The Earl of Edgemont bowed to Ainsley and said, after he swallowed, “I’m glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Sterling.”
Her cheeks heated instantly at the name, the two cottage days flashing in her memory on a hot blur. She didn’t dare look at Reed this time. “Thank you. And I’m grateful for your assistance as well.”
Without his help, they would have had to drive to Gretna Green to marry and there would have been no saving her reputation. No honeymoon at all. No happy memories.
Surreptitiously, she watched as Reed shook his hand and began talking with familiarity. Before Nicholas married Briar, he’d frequented Sterling’s and they’d developed a friendship. Even so, Nicholas was reluctant to share any of the scones with his new brother-in-law. Then again, he rarely shared them at all. So it surprised her all the more when he let Reed take two.
The Duke of Rydstrom was the next to join their party, strolling in with a cooing Emma in one arm and . . . a plate of scones in the other.
Mrs. Darden must have known there would be a ravenous horde to feed this morning.
Crispin inclined his head and looked at Ainsley with brotherly affection. “I’m glad to see you have returned. If you had been gone another day, my wife was determined to hunt for you and ensure that you were well.”
Proof of this was in Jacinda’s wet eyes before she blinked her tears away and smiled. “But you are here now and I no longer have to plot how to drag out all the information from that Mr. Finch who stubbornly kept it to himself. He was going to talk no matter what.”
Knowing her sister’s determined nature, Ainsley laughed and slyly slipped out of the embrace. “Of that, I have no doubt. But as you can all see, I am here, and well, and
we have no need to discuss it further.”
“And you are married now, to Mr. Sterling of all men!” Briar exclaimed, then cast a hasty look over to the table. “Which is wonderful, of course. Jacinda and I have known for quite some time that our sister fancied y—”
“You should break your fast to keep up your strength, Briar,” Ainsley interrupted, focusing her gaze on Briar’s swollen middle.
Jacinda, with mischief glinting in her gaze, added too quickly, “That’s true. Ainsley was forever going on and on about your cravats, or lack thereof. But I see you actually do own one.”
“Jacinda, please. It is hardly proper to discuss a gentleman’s attire at the table.”
“Then it’s good that I’m not sitting at the table yet,” she said with impish delight as she scooped up her daughter and teased a giggle out of her, effectively quieting Ainsley’s response.
Though it mattered little if she’d planned to chide her sister or not because in the next instant the breakfast room became even more crowded.
Mrs. Teasdale breezed in and—shocking everyone—swept Ainsley into a dancing, happy embrace.
But then an ever greater shock came when Reed suddenly stood and said, “Mum? What are you doing here?”
A beat of silence followed.
“Mum?” both Briar and Jacinda said in unison, brows lifted.
Now Ainsley looked to Reed who appeared to be just as dumbfounded as she was. Then to Mrs. Teasdale, she said, “Mr. Sterling is your . . . your . . .”
“My sweet boy. My Lancelot,” she said, rushing across the room with her hands raised as if she fully intended to take his face in her hands.
“Lancelot?” Nicholas asked, choking on a bite of scone until Briar patted him on the back. “That is your given name?”
“Lancelot was my father. I’ve always gone by Reed and my mother knows this,” he said, leveling the woman in question with a firm shake of his head.
“But if you’re Reed’s mother, then why did you encourage me to start a war with him?” Ainsley asked, confused.
“Mum,” Reed chided, indignant. “Ah. So that’s how the handbills made it inside. I should have known.”
The Rogue to Ruin EPB Page 31