His Contract Bride (Banks Brothers Brides 1)

by Rose Gordon

  “Ah, then he must be saying his nightly prayers wrong.”

  Edward switched his paddle to the other side. “And how did you reach this conclusion?”

  Regina twisted her lips and cocked her head to the side. “All right, you might have to help me, but I think I've spent enough time in your presence that I can put this in a way you'll understand.”

  “All right.”

  She ignored the way he was looking at her as if she was a simpleton. “My objective is to prove how John finds himself in so much trouble. My hypothesis is that he says his prayer wrong at night. My observations or research to prove my findings is based on the fact that we had to return to London early after he was sent down from Eton, followed by you making two additional trips to Eton to discuss other matters he was involved in, and now you mention the boat incident. That leads me to my conclusion that, instead of asking the Lord to lead him not into temptation, John asks him just to whisper where it's at.”

  The corners of Edward's eyes crinkled with mirth as a giant grin split his face and his body shook with laughter. “Regina, that has to be the best scientific proposal I've ever heard.”

  “Did I do it right?”

  “Close enough,” he said, favoring her with another grin. “Just so you know how right you are, John didn’t actually earn his nickname because he’s a menace. He's a good boy who seems to always be the one who gets caught—no matter how much or little his involvement.” He grunted and moved his paddle to navigate around a cluster of rocks. “When we were boys and we'd play with something we shouldn't, we'd all run when Father came looking for us. Being the youngest, therefore, the slowest, it'd always be John who was caught.” A strained look came over his face that seemed to have nothing to do with his paddling. “Of course, after Mother died, it wasn't so humorous when John was caught.”

  Regina waited for him to tell her more, but he didn't and she didn't want to press.

  A few minutes later, he pulled out his pocket watch and made a face. “I think it's time we turn around and go back. Would you like to get out for a few minutes and stretch your legs?”

  “If you don't mind.”

  “Not at all.” He paddled over to the shore and helped her out, then started pulling the boat out of the water. “When there's only one paddle, it's easier to take it out to turn it around than try to turn it in the creek.”

  “I can help paddle,” she offered.

  “I know you can paddle. But today is for you, so I left my second paddle at home so I wouldn't be tempted to give into an ungentlemanly urge and allow you to.” He winked at her. “John lost the second paddle last year and I have yet to replace it.”

  “I think you just earned yourself a plate of Cook's infamous gruel for dinner.”

  Edward's eyes widened. “Damn,” he muttered.

  She shook her head. “I shan't count that one since I knew you were having me on. But next time, I might not be so lenient.”

  “Thank you for your generosity.” He pulled the boat the rest of the way out of the water. “Regina, we won't be able to stop again before we get back so if you need to...er...attend to anything private, now would be the time.”

  She needed to, but there was no way she could go without help, her skirts were too long and heavy for her to hold. “I think I can wait until we get back.”

  He looked doubtful. “I can help, if you need me to.”

  “Thank you for offering, but I believe I'll be all right.”

  “All right, then.” He pushed the boat three quarters of the way into the water then helped her in.

  The sun wasn't quite as high or bright anymore; by her guess, it was three or four in the afternoon. The water was calm and serene, just like Edward's face as he paddled. The light splashing as the blade of his paddle skimmed the water and the birds singing filled the air. Edward added to it a moment later with his awful off-tune whistling.

  “Join me,” he encouraged.

  “I can't.”

  “Sure you can. Everyone can whistle,” he said between bars of whatever song was in his head.

  “No, I really can't.”

  He stared at her as if he didn't believe her.

  “I don't know how.”

  Edward's O-shaped lips held form, but his whistling had stopped. “Have you ever tried?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I don't know. When I was very young, I heard a woman in the park whistle and I remember my mother telling me to stop trying to duplicate the sound, because it'd irritate my father.”

  “I don't know why I find that a surprise,” he mumbled, moving his paddle to the other side of the boat. “All right, what you'll do is pucker your lips like you're about to kiss someone, preferably your husband.”

  She coughed at his frank statement.

  “Well, it's true,” he said adamantly.

  Now that he was staring at her, there was no way she could do that with her lips.

  “Stop giggling and pucker up,” he teased, making kissing faces at her.

  Where had this man come from and what had happened to her husband? “I don't think I can.”

  “Now, I know without any doubt, that's not true. I can even prove it,” he murmured; the seriousness in his voice and the look in his eyes putting an abrupt end to her laughter. He brought the paddle out of the water and rested it across his knees. Then, before she knew what was going on, his right hand came up to rest on her cheek and his soft, warm lips found hers.

  Regina's mind spun. He'd kissed her lips so many times when they'd first married. But never with the same intensity as he did either time today. Against her lips, his moved, exerting the most exquisite pressure and she gasped.

  Edward took advantage of her parted lips, drawing her bottom lip in between his. His warm tongue ran the length of her lip and a shiver ran through her. His other hand came up to hold onto the other side of her face, holding her mouth against his.

  Ever so lightly, he nipped her bottom lip then soothed it with his tongue. She opened her mouth more to him, allowing him to deepen their kiss in a way he never had before.

  “Edward,” she sighed against his lips as he withdrew his tongue.

  His lips continued to mesh on top of and in between hers. “Regina.”

  On their own accord, Regina's hands found their way to Edward's soft hair. She twirled her fingers into the silky strands, never wanting to let go.

  “Regina,” he panted, abruptly ending their kiss and moving backward. He pulled her off her seat and nearly on top of him just in time to keep her from hitting her head on an overhanging tree limb.

  Just then, the back of the boat tipped backward due to the unbalanced weight and plunged them both into the chilly water.

  ~Chapter Twenty-Three~

  Edward came to the surface to take a gulp of air and was met with a splash of cold water in his face.

  Five feet away, Regina thrashed, trying in vain to keep her head above water. But, she couldn't. She'd manage to get her face above water just long enough to gasp and then down she went again. Though the creek couldn't be any more than six or seven feet deep, to a lady like Regina, wearing all those heavy skirts, it might as well be a hundred.

  He swam over to her just as she'd slipped under the water again and wrapped his arm around her midsection, pulling her safely above water for good.

  “Breathe,” he whispered in her ear as he made his way toward the shore with her. He set her down on a large rock and pulled himself up next to her. “You can breathe now, it's all right.”

  She coughed up a mouth full of water.

  He patted her back. “Are you all right now?”

  “I think so,” she said in between coughs. Her hair, which was always styled beautifully, was slipping from its pins and plastered to her red face.

  He reached up and swept a stray lock from her fore
head. “Just take deep breaths. That's it.”

  Her shallow breathing continued as she tried to catch her breath. Lowering her head, she took a deep, shaky breath, and then released it. Then another. She looked up and gasped. “What happened to your face?”

  Edward ran his hands over his face and then pulled them away. Bright red blood covered his fingers. He'd been so worried about Regina until now that he hadn't paid any mind to his smarting cheek. He used the back of his hand to wipe at the blood. “I must have cut my face when I hit the rocks on the bottom.”

  “Doesn't it hurt?”

  “Well, yes.”

  An uneven laugh escaped her lips. “Come here, let me see that.”

  He moved closer. He wouldn't argue having a beautiful woman clean his wounds, meager as they may be.

  Regina stripped off her left glove and dunked it into the water. She squeezed out the excess then folded it over and brought it to his face.

  He winced.

  “For—”

  He cut those confounded words off with a quick kiss.

  The column of her throat worked as she swallowed; her delicate fingers danced across his forehead, sweeping his hair away from his wound. She wiped away the blood. “It appears you have two long gashes and a blackened eye to go along with your soaked clothes and ruined boots.”

  He encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. “I'm sorry I caused us to tip. I didn't see that branch until it was too late to do anything about it.”

  “It wasn't your fault.”

  Actually, it was, but who was he to argue? Noting the sun's position in the sky, he said, “Why don't you wait, and I'll go see after the boat.”

  “Where is the boat?” Regina turned away from him to look.

  He pointed in the general direction of where he'd last seen the boat. “By the rocks over there.”

  “Did it always sit so low in the water?”

  He craned his neck to see. “No. I do believe this might be Gallant's last adventure.” My, but that boat was filling with water fast. He flashed her a smile. “Congratulations, Regina. You've managed to do in your first adventure what seven boys could not do in all of ours.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Surely you don't think this is my fault.”

  He shrugged. “You're the one who said the fault wasn't mine. That only leaves you.”

  She nudged him playfully with her elbow. He loved it when she did things like that. It made him feel as if she was becoming comfortable being herself in his presence. “Is it utterly unsalvageable?”

  Before he could answer, Gallant slipped under the water. “I believe so, yes.”

  Regina buried her head in her hands and sobs wracked her body.

  He moved against her, wrapping his arm around her. “Shhh,” he crooned in her ear. “Don't cry. It'll be all right.”

  She looked up from her hands, her body still shaking uncontrollably, but not because of tears. She was laughing! That minx.

  Edward took her in. She could sit here and laugh until the sun rose tomorrow morning for all he cared. He loved hearing that merry sound.

  “Do you have any scientific theories on how the unsinkable Gallant sank?” she asked after her laughter had calmed down into the occasional giggle.

  Edward crossed his ankles and knocked the sides of his ruined boots together. “For once, I don't. My guess would be that after we were thrown into water, Gallant regained enough buoyancy to float again, but instead of meeting directly with the water when her bow came down, the underneath part of her must have hit a hard surface—” he looked around at their surroundings— “like the branches we were trying to escape or one of those large stones over there, cracking the wood and leaving her to take on water and sink.” He plucked a blade of tall grass by his side. “Perhaps Gallant wasn't so gallant, after all.”

  “You're not upset at all, are you?”

  “No. Should I be?”

  “Most gentlemen in your position would be.”

  He reached over and wiped away a drop of water that was clinging to Regina's jawline. “You mean like your father?”

  She nodded. “He'd have said it was my fault, but, unlike you, he wouldn't have been jesting.”

  Irritation for the man swelled inside him. “I'm glad you recognized my jest as just that.”

  “You seem to do that a lot. Jest, I mean.”

  He bent forward and untied his leather boots. They'd be terribly uncomfortable to walk in now that they were wet. “Too much?”

  “No. I rather like it.”

  “Good. I should hate to have to change my personality in order to please my wife.” His fingers stilled on his boot laces. “I apologize, that did not come out as I intended.”

  “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

  Edward kicked off his boots and then peeled off his stockings. “Then think nothing of it,” he said dismissively, taking to his now bare feet. At every turn, she was proving different than both his mother and his father in every matter they encountered. Frankly, he didn't know what to think of her anymore. “We should probably start walking now if we want to make it back to Watson Townhouse before your breakfast.”

  A wobbly smile took her lips. “That was another jest, wasn't it?”

  “Partially.” He scooped up his discarded boots and stockings in his left hand then helped her gain her feet. “It's approximately five miles from where we had our picnic to Watson Estate and another two miles to where we turned around. But since we'd only just turned around a mile or so ago, I think we still have a mile yet until we get to the Y.”

  “Oh.”

  He squeezed her hand and then interlaced their fingers. “Not to worry, my lady. I'll get you home in time for your breakfast.” Home? When had he started thinking of Watson Townhouse as his home? He'd hated going there. With very little interior room as compared to Watson Estate, there wasn't anywhere to escape when Father and Mother took to arguing except to the third story nursery or Covent Garden. Not like at Watson Estate, where he could race his horse across the fields, swim in the creek, or get lost with his brothers on an adventure.

  “Do you think?”

  Edward started. “I beg your pardon, I was woolgathering.” He guided them around a bed of sharp rocks. “Go on.”

  “I just wondered if you think everyone who'll be at my breakfast will have a good time.”

  “Of course,” he lied, taking a keen interest in where his bare feet were about to walk. He could think of at least two people who wouldn't find it a pleasant experience.

  Regina's grip tightened a fraction then relaxed. “I hope you're right. My father is really looking forward to this event and I hope I don't disappoint him.”

  Edward ground his teeth. “Do you care so much for his opinion of you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He turned to study her face. Something was different. “Why?”

  “I've never been able to gain his approval before.”

  “And you think this breakfast is how you will?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “I hope so. I've worked very hard on this breakfast, and I hope he sees that I'm not the featherbrain he thinks me.”

  Edward felt a hint of guilt for the caliber of people he'd invited to her breakfast, then in an instant it was gone. “You don't need his approval, you know?”

  “Sure I do. The same as you, I have a family duty to uphold.”

  “Do you have a title I don't know about?”

  She cast him a weak smile. “No. I was actually talking about your family duty to marry me.”

  “That wasn't family duty.”

  She snorted. “Then, did your father have the fifteen thousand pounds to repay my father?”

  He released her hand and helped her over a fallen log. “My father's need for money had nothing to do with o
ur betrothal.”

  “It didn't?”

  “No.” He took her hand in his again, noting the way her walking wasn't quite as graceful as it had been when they'd started. Her skin was cool, too. “My father didn't want me to have the same sort of marriage he had; that's why he sought to arrange my marriage. See, my parents were in love, just with different people.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh dear, indeed.” He squeezed her hand. But was it for her benefit, or his? “Contrary to the romantic stories you ladies enjoy reading so much, Father was the one who had a deep, indestructible, and unrequited love for Mother. He said he'd been cast under her spell the moment they met, or some such nonsense. Unfortunately, Father wasn't the first man she'd ensnared, but he was the wealthiest. Instead of a dowry, Father agreed to pay a bride price, which turned out to be far more than the initial ten thousand pounds he gave her father. He paid dearly with his heart.

  “Mother never stopped loving her impoverished Italian count. When she and Father would quarrel, she'd threaten to go live with him. Likely, it was during one of their spats that our fathers signed that contract. Then, when I was fourteen, Mother died. It was after her funeral that he explained to me how much better my marriage would be, since we'd both enter it knowing the other wasn't in love—” He shut his mouth with a snap and his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He'd already said too much, and judging by the stricken look on her face, she knew exactly what he was about to say.

  “I'm sorry,” he whispered a few minutes later.

  “It's not your fault my father lied to me.”

  “No, but I should have been more careful with what I was saying.”

  She turned her head to look at a tree they were passing.

  He squeezed her hand to gain her attention. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

  “You can tell me, but remember that you can't untell me.”

  He chuckled at her weak jest. What a fortunate man he was to be leg-shackled to such a forgiving lady. “There's not a reason for me to untell you anything, especially this. But, because of a vow I made to my brothers when I was younger, I had to ask if you could keep a secret?”