Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 01]

by To Wed a Scandalous Spy

  Willa blinked. She certainly couldn’t have predicted that revelation.

  Nathaniel rushed on. “I wasn’t born to it, since my father—who died when I was but a few years old—was only the nephew of the Earl and he was a much younger son at that. Through a serious of rather freakish events, the other heirs died off in quick succession and I became Lord Reardon when I was but a boy.”

  “I see,” she said slowly, since he seemed to be waiting for a response. “How … nice.”

  “You shouldn’t feel intimidated by my title, now that you know,” he assured her.

  She didn’t smile, given that he was being so sincere with his permission. “I won’t,” she promised with equal gravity.

  “So you see wherein lies our problem,” he said, spreading his hands. “We aren’t actually wed.”

  Willa thought about it for a long moment. “My apologies, but no. I don’t see.”

  “Peers cannot legally marry in spontaneous country ceremonies like a blacksmith or a farmer,” he explained gently. “There are laws requiring that we post our intention for three Sundays first, to allow anyone with property or title claims, or even previous marriages, to come forward.” He shrugged. “There are dowries to be discussed, lines of maternal inheritance to be assured, endless negotiations….”

  Oh, heavens—was that all he was worried about? Willa sat forward, her chin on her hands. “Do I get another proposal of marriage? The first one wasn’t really up to snuff.”

  Nathaniel took a deep breath. “Yes, well. I wasn’t feeling my best.”

  He went to one knee before her in a quick, fluid motion. “Miss Trent, will you be my wife?” he said quickly.

  She sighed. “It’s a good thing I’m ruined, for that was truly a stinker. You couldn’t tempt a cat from a brook with a proposal like that.”

  He was beginning to look impatient. “Oh, very well,” she said. “I accept.”

  He returned to his seat, obviously thinking she was being unnecessarily tongue-in-cheek. Willa sighed. Oh well. A proposal was just a question, after all. One that he already knew the answer to at that.

  She put on a cheerful manner. “So there are banns to be read and properties to apportion. When do we start?”

  “We won’t. When we arrive in London, I shall solicit a special license from a bishop of the church, and we can then be married immediately.”

  She tilted her head at him. “Men are always complicating matters. Why didn’t you simply say that?”

  He seemed taken aback. “I just did.”

  “Very well. Let me see if I have all this.” She ticked off on her fingers, “You are Lord Reardon. We are not wed. You asked. I said yes. We will be wed by special license as soon as you speak to the Bishop. I must say, you have eased my mind. All of this explains why you did not want to cop—make love.”

  “Ah, W—”

  “I suppose I am relieved. As interested as I am in natural processes, I think perhaps a bit more time to understand each other will do us both good, don’t you?”

  “Will—”

  “There is the little matter of the jinx, however. You’ve managed to avoid any serious damage so far, if one does not count the knot on your temple—and I am eager to get started on little Lord Reardon—”

  “Willa!”

  “Yes, Nathaniel?”

  “I have more to say.”

  “Oh dear. Do pardon me.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited politely.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes turned on the ground between them. “There won’t be any little Lord Reardons. I have an heir, my cousin Basil. He isn’t much of an heir, but hopefully he will marry someday and provide us all with someone a bit more … conscientious.”

  “Nonsense. You won’t need Basil when I’m through with you.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded.”

  Nathaniel didn’t smile. His eyes, when he turned his gaze up to her, were sad beyond measure. “We won’t be having any children, Willa, because I am never, ever, going to make love to you.”

  Nathaniel’s vow went directly through Willa’s heart like an arrow. Abruptly she held up her palm to stop his words. “Wait. Simply—simply wait.”

  Nathaniel nodded. He sat, his hands clasped loosely, dangling between his knees, watching her.

  Willa half-turned away from him and stared into the gray sky. The clouds had gathered all through the morning. There would be rain tonight, unlike the night when she had felled a strange man, then spent the night by his side.

  How stupid she was. What a stupid silly idiot. As wrapped up as she had been in her worry over her future, it had never once occurred to her to wonder about his plans for his own.

  Add selfish to the list. Selfish and very, very stupid.

  “And vain. Definitely vain.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “What?”

  Willa gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’ve had many suitors who wanted me badly enough to brave certain injury to court me. Men have been trying to marry me for years. It never crossed my mind that you weren’t entirely thrilled with the match.”

  He reached for her hands, capturing them within his large warm ones. “No, Willa, it isn’t because of you. I cannot—I will not—ever wish to have a son to carry on my name. No, no daughters, either,” he said firmly, apparently sensing the thought that was even then crossing her mind.

  “But why?”

  Nathaniel knew he couldn’t put if off any longer. She wanted to know. She had an inquisitive mind and a driving will. She was going to learn it one way or another. For the first time, it occurred to Nathaniel that he hadn’t been able to say the words “I’m a traitor” because he had as yet avoided having to.

  Odd. He could let others believe what they willed, and he could even play the part—but somehow he had managed never to openly admit to it.

  Really, he could have used the practice, for telling Willa was going to be hard enough.

  Nathaniel took a deep breath and said the words out loud for the very first time. “I plotted against the Crown. I joined a group known as the Knights of the Lily, named for Napoleon’s fleur-de-lis, and plotted to have the Prince Regent dethroned.”

  She stared at him for a long moment; then she covered her face with her hands. She began to shake. Damn, she was crying.

  Then she snorted. And snickered out loud.

  “Oh dear. Really, Nathaniel, I’m loath to shatter your dreams, but your career on the stage will be deathly short.”

  He could only stare at her, mouth open. It only made her laugh the harder.

  She put one finger beneath his chin and closed it for him. Then she leaned her elbows on her knees and dangled her hands before her. “I told you once before. I am an excellent judge of character. You, Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Reardon, could no more betray your country than a cobra could fly. It simply isn’t in you.”

  Nathaniel couldn’t believe it. Everyone he knew—at least, those who didn’t already know the truth—had assumed the worst about him and had rejected him.

  He could not deny the warmth that began to spread through some place in him that had been cold. However, Willa wasn’t seeing the entire matter clearly. It was easy to disbelieve such a thing here in the country, with only the two of them about. She must be prepared for what the world would have to say about it.

  “You must know what to expect. There will be unpleasantness at every turn. People have very strong feelings about traitors. The finer the person, usually, the worse the rejection. No one will talk to you. Merchants will be loath to take your money. Even your own servants will be grudging, despite that you pay them twice what their equals receive in other houses.”

  She’d gone quite sober as he spoke. Good. She must understand what was before her.

  “There is no place where you’ll be welcomed. No home, no shop, no tearoom will want you there. The reason why I could not tell you before was that I feared you would not come with me, and that you wo
uld choose to be ruined forever rather than wed me.”

  “Oh, Nathaniel,” she breathed. “How awful it has been for you.”

  He blinked. “No, no, you are not listening, Willa. I told you all this because you must understand how it will be for you.”

  He gazed at her with intensity, willing her to understand. “I’m sorry that circumstances force you to wed me, Willa. Nevertheless, one day the war will be over and my reputation may fade”—although he thought it unlikely—”but you would be disgraced forever if you did not marry me. If you wed me and then leave me, openly, you will more likely be forgiven for the mistake of not marrying well than for not marrying at all.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes damp. “Have you been terribly lonely, Nathaniel?”

  He shook his head. He wasn’t getting through to her. “Do you understand what you will be facing as my wife? I believe you will be better off in Derryton once we are wed.”

  Now she shook her head, as if finally awakening. “Oh. I am beginning to see. You married me, or will marry me, are taking me to London, have never touched me—well, but not really—because you thought that once I heard this silly story I would want to leave you.” She sat back, shaking her head over the idea.

  Nathaniel caught her hand. “Whether or not you believe in my innocence, there is a very large world out there which most emphatically does not. We must wed, for your sake. Then you must leave, also for your sake. You will be taking on a tarnished name. That name will do much less damage in Derryton, where you are loved.” Even Reardon, filled with people who were supposed to be his own, would not welcome her.

  She’d watched him throughout this speech with fascination on her face. Now she sighed and looked at the ceiling. “How more noble can one be?”

  He was determined to get through to her. “Of course, you will not go back to living above the taproom. I will buy you a house and set you up with an income.”

  Willa bit her lip. Should she tell him there was no need of that? She had an income of her own, small but steady, from her parents’ few investments. No, for the moment it was better to let him think she would need his support.

  She was not yet ready to face her future according to his plan. No husband? No babies? Nothing but an eternal form of spinsterhood, only worse, for a spinster might always hope.

  Unhappiness curdled the hope that she would have her own family at last.

  Nathaniel watched her. She sat, bedraggled and a bit on the grimy side, her disobedient hair falling from its braid as usual. For the first time since they’d met, she seemed a little unsure of herself.

  Nathaniel tilted his head to the side. With his hand he tucked away one of her unruly strands of hair. “You must be strong, wildflower. You’re the fearless Willa, remember? Slingshot huntress supreme and defender of little furry things.”

  Willa smiled wide and happy. “You did it again.”

  Nathaniel took his hand away from her silky hair. “What?”

  “You called me wildflower. That makes twice.”

  Nathaniel stiffened and stepped away. “That signifies nothing.”

  “Why, Nathaniel Stonewell, I do believe you are beginning to like me a little!”

  “Of course I like you. I never said I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. You said I was maddening, and frustrating, and you called me a chatterbox and a pest.”

  His jaw dropped. “I didn’t.” Never out loud, at any rate. “Never once.”

  “Silly Nathaniel. Everything you think is written on your face as plain as the nose on your … Oh well, you know what I mean.”

  Silly Nathaniel? More likely milord or Lord Treason or, among the Royal Four, the Cobra. The many epithets that Society had tagged him with, some bawdy, some vile, had never once veered near “Silly Nathaniel.”

  “I am not si—” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Never mind that. The point is, you couldn’t possibly know what I’m thinking.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m thinking it. Not saying it. Not expressing it in any way.”

  “Humph. That’s what you think.”

  Nathaniel put on his very worst lordly scowl. “Willa, you do not know what I am thinking.”

  “Nathaniel, it is quite all right. It is not as though I am going to tell anyone what a great marshmallow sweet you are. You go on being all aristocratic and brooding to everyone else. I won’t ruin it for you.”

  “I. Am. Not. A. Marshmallow.”

  “Of course not, darling. Not a bit of it.” Her voice was soothing, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re Mad, Bad Nate, the scariest—by the way, darling, what is it that you do now?”

  Oh yes, dear lady, did I forget to mention? I’m a spy. Then again, perhaps not. “I’m doing it.”

  She looked confused. Good.

  “Which one, traveling or trying to get rid of me?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh, Nathaniel, you can’t get rid of me yet.”

  “Yes, I can. Once I finish my business and we’re properly wed, I shall escort you back to Derryton.”

  Willa sighed. He was so adamant. She supposed she ought to do as he—

  For shame, she scolded herself. Was she to let him go without a battle? She had taken an uncommon fancy to this man.

  She would keep him.

  “No.”

  “No, what?” Nathaniel frowned.

  “No, this plan does not appeal to me. I want a real husband, and children, and a real home.”

  “This is not a possibility, Willa.”

  “You are my husband. It is your duty to give me this.”

  “I do not want a wife.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that before you married me.”

  Nathaniel opened his mouth and blinked.

  She was—

  She made him—

  “Rrrrrr!” Leaping to his feet, Nathaniel strode away from the fire. Shoving his hands through his hair, he fought for patience.

  She was just a woman. An unworldly country miss, with more brain than she had any need for and less sense. Why was she so frustrating?

  Willa smiled fondly at her Nathaniel. He was such a darling when he was tearing his hair out. Gone was his aristocratic cool; gone was his ominous control. Only the real Nathaniel remained.

  She watched him flexing his hands, open and shut, spread and fist. Silly man. As if she could ever be in danger from him. He was so noble, such a slave to his gentlemanly impulses. He fought it, he tried to deny it, tried to put on a hardened front, but it shone from his every action.

  “There’s no need to make such heavy weather about it, Nathaniel. Most everyone gets married and has children.”

  Nathaniel only shook his head. There was no point in arguing this with her. When they arrived in London, she would find out soon enough. By tomorrow, Willa would discover just what the world knew about Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Treason. Then she would go gratefully on her own back to Derryton.

  The harsh thoughts were somehow soothing. He should never forget who he was and the price he must pay for duty. Funny, alluring country wife notwithstanding, he was an outcast, despised by all who knew him. The shell of that reality had become, if not comfortable, then at least accustomed, in the last months, and he wasn’t about to toss that hard-won sense of peace away.

  9

  The town of Wakefield was a lively place of commerce and activity. Willa seemed fascinated by the bustle going on around her. “Wait until you get into London proper,” warned Nathaniel. “This will seem like Derryton on Sunday afternoon.”

  He’d not intended to stop here, for it was unlikely that he’d be able to find anyone who’d noticed Foster among all the travelers going to and from London. It wasn’t until Willa pulled her mare to a complete stop before a sign that read “Weldon’s Books” that Nathaniel realized that, will-he, nill-he, Miss Willa Trent was planning to visit her very first real bookshop.

  There seemed no help for it. Better here,
where he was not as well known, than in Mayfair. And it would be nice to do something for Willa. Nathaniel halted the gelding and dismounted. Taking the mare’s reins, he handed Willa down. As was usual in every town he had ever seen, there were a number of boys lurking about, looking equally hard for trouble or coin.

  Motioning a likely lad over with a nod, Nathaniel bent to look him in the eye. “You seem an honest man. What is your name?”

  “Lem, sir.”

  He was very dirty, but only in a daily sort of way. Young Lem no doubt had a mother who made him scrub with vigor each night before she filled his belly with warm food and his life with affection.

  Lucky lad.

  “Well, Lem, can you do me the great favor of looking after our mounts for an hour? Find them some water and a bit of shade for a rest?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!”

  After shaking the boy’s hand with manful dignity, Nathaniel straightened and beckoned to Willa.

  As they approached the shop, Willa looked back to see the boy walking soldier straight between the mounts. She turned back to Nathaniel.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Make people want to please you, she thought, but only shook her head.

  He grinned at her. “What will you be buying, Willa?”

  Slowly, she smiled, and her eyes gleamed with acquisitive desire. “How much may I spend?”

  “Ah, you are human after all.” Nathaniel laughed and directed her to the bookshop door. “I’ll be along in a bit to pay for it. Find something new to read. Something without vinegar in the title.”

  The bookshop’s distinctive aroma greeted Willa as she entered. Books had such a lovely papery smell. That combined with the shopkeeper’s pipe smoke struck up longing in Willa for her father and reading with him in the evenings.

  The shopkeeper had kind, curious eyes. He approached her immediately.

  “And what would you be seeking on this lovely day, miss?”

  Willa looked about her. There were stacks and shelves and piles of books in the tiny shop. The plenty stunned her ability to choose.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, we have a large collection. Perhaps a history?”