“Yes,” Garrett said. “Under the circumstances, I’m sure my bride would like to retire early.” He smiled roguishly. “And so would I, for that matter.”
Whitehead laughed. “I don’t blame you a bit,” he said, standing and bowing to the lady. “I wish you good night, and I will see you both in the morning.”
“Not too early,” Garrett warned with a wink.
“No.” The major laughed again. “Not too early, indeed.” He drained the rest of the goblet of wine. “Now I shall see if the innkeeper can find a bed for me tonight.”
Garrett waited until the British officer left the small parlor, then he turned his gaze on Caroline. “Now what?”
“Now we get you to bed and have that wound looked after properly. I’ve sent for the barber surgeon. No.” She held up a palm. “He can be trusted. You need to have someone besides me tend the injury. Are you still bleeding?”
“No, but it hurts like hell.” He grinned at her wryly. “You’re certain it was my leg that made you ask to spend the night here?”
“What other reason could there be?” she asked innocently.
“I hate to brag, but you’d not be the first lady who schemed to trick me into her bed. And you did tell me that ours was to be a marriage of convenience.”
Caroline’s felt her cheeks grow hot. “I can assure you, Mr. Faulkner, that I have no desire to climb between the sheets with you.”
“No?” He raised his wineglass in salute. “Forgive me, madame, but from the kiss at the altar, I would have believed quite the opposite.”
Chapter 6
Caroline left Garrett in the parlor and went ahead to the bedchamber to see if all was in order. As she entered the room, she saw a serving woman on her knees adding wood to the fire. “Good evening,” Caroline greeted her. “Thank you for bringing extra fuel. The temperature seems to be dropping.” As she spoke, wind rattled the shutters and swayed the boughs of a tall evergreen outside the window.
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid got to her feet awkwardly, and Caroline noticed that her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, and her mouth was pinched. An obvious pregnancy bulged out the front of her threadbare skirt and bodice.
“Ida, isn’t it? Aren’t you Ida Wright?” Carolina asked. “Your husband made wheels for our carriage last year, didn’t he?”
“Not no more he won’t,” she replied. Ida’s shoulders slumped, and her thin fingers worked nervously. The gaze that met Caroline’s was sullen—almost hostile.
The last time she’d seen Ida Wright, the woman had been neatly dressed and smiling. Her husband had recently completely his indenture and was setting up in his own business. Jack . . . yes, that was his name. Jack. They were poor as Job’s turkey, but his work was solid. “Is Jack sick?” Caroline asked. “He’s not died, has he?”
Two fat tears rolled down Ida’s chapped cheeks. “Might as well be,” she answered. “He went for a soldier, did my Jackie. Followed Washington up to that godforsaken woods they call Valley Forge. Yes,” she said defiantly. “We’re rebels. If ye want to scorn us fer that, it don’t matter. They’re hard-pressed, Mistress Steele. No food, no blankets. They got wood to burn, but it keeps snowin’, and that’s wet. My Jackie froze his feet in November. Froze his feet in November—can ye believe such a thing? They brought him home to me four inches shorter than they took him.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. And it’s not Mistress Steele anymore. I’m remarried. It’s Caroline Faulkner now. I do hope your husband’s out of danger. Is he healing?”
She shrugged. “Reckon he’ll live. If he don’t pine away from heartbreak. Not much work for a man without feet. We lost the shop when he went off to fight the British. This job brings in food, but not much else. We’re sleeping in the barn out back of the inn.” Her lower lip quivered. “My back hurts something fierce, but if I don’t work, we don’t eat.”
“Surely Maude Hawkins won’t see you—”
“We ain’t charity, Jackie and me!” Ida said fiercely. “Least not yet, we ain’t.” Her face crumpled. “But now my oldest, little Jackie, has got the soldier fever, and he ain’t but twelve. Do they bring him back to me in a box, reckon I’ll throw myself in the river and the girls with me.”
“Young Jackie’s twelve, you say?” Caroline asked. Her heart ached for the beaten woman she knew to be only a few years older than she was. Ida was already missing a front tooth, and the pale blond hair that peeked out from under her worn mobcap was limp and lifeless. Pride was all Ida Wright had left, and Caroline wasn’t about to take that away from her by showing pity. “It might be that we could find work for both big Jack and young Jackie at Fortune’s Gift. We’re short of hands. Most men are gone off to one side or the other.”
“We hold fer Washington,” Ida said stubbornly. “My Jack wouldn’t bow and scrape to no Brits. I hear they’s swarmin’ all over yer plantation.”
“They are,” Caroline admitted, “but they’re uninvited guests.” She held out a hand to Ida. “Talk to your husband. Tell him that Fortune’s Gift needs a master carpenter.”
“Jackie ain’t whole no more.”
“Together your husband and son should make more than a whole man. Young Jackie can be his father’s feet. Big Jack’s hands are whole, aren’t they? And his brain’s not affected. It’s up to you, Ida, but I need the help. If Jack’s interested, tell him to come out and talk to my foreman, Mordecai Brown. There’s a cabin goes with the job. It’s not big, only three rooms, but it’s clean and furnished.”
“If my Jackie was interested, how would we get out to your place? It’s a far piece for a man without feet to walk.”
“That’s not my problem, is it, Ida? A smart man like your Jack ought to be able to figure out how to get to Fortune’s Gift. There’s a supply boat that runs from Oxford south to Virginia the first of every month. It stops at our landing. And he can always borrow a horse from Maude. I’m offering work, not charity,” Caroline said loftily. “I’ve always admired your husband’s skill, but the decision is yours.”
“I’ll tell him,” Ida said grudgingly, “but I ain’t promisin’ we’ll come work for ye. Jackie don’t think much of Tories, and young Jackie’s got his heart set on goin’ to war.”
Caroline sniffed. “You tell them both that the duty to a man’s family comes first.”
The door opened, and Maude and Harley Wiggins, the barber, came in. “The girls need help in the public room,” the innkeeper’s wife said to Ida. “There’s soldiers want ale and supper.”
“Yes’m,” Ida said as she picked up her wood basket. She left without another word or look at Caroline.
“A sad case,” Maude said. “Widows and weeping mothers. More funerals than christenings in Oxford now. Makes you wonder if this rebellion is all worthwhile.”
“Hmmpt,” Harley said. “I give a leg and two nephews, and I still know what we’re fightin’ for. Evenin’, Miss Caroline. Now, where’s this new husband of yours what had himself an accident that can’t be talked about?”
Caroline smiled warmly at the older man. “I’ll get him for you. Thank you for coming.”
“Little enough I can do for Kincaid’s granddaughter. I knew your grandaddy when . . . Well”—he grinned—“let’s just say I knew him in the good old days when life was a little tougher than you youngsters know it.” He rubbed his stubbled chin, took the bar of lye soap Maude offered him, and began to wash his hands in a large china bowl of water. “Don’t think he wouldn’t be off with Washington right now, if he was still alive. Lord, but he did hate the British. And fight? That tough old bird was a fightin’ fool.”
Caroline moved close to Harley. “How does it go for Washington’s men? Is it as bad as they say?”
Harley nodded. “Aye, and worse. They’re starvin’, girl. I seen men with ribs like a picket fence. Any supplies you can spare, our boys can use them. The Marylanders are pretty good about livin’ off the land, but food is as scarce as June bugs in a chicken run.”
&nb
sp; “You know that the British have confiscated most of my livestock, and they keep a tight guard over what’s left. But I can do this,” Caroline offered. “I’ll send two women with a load of wheat for Simon Pine’s mill tomorrow afternoon. To get to the mill, they have to pass through that stretch of thick woods in the hollow. It would be a shame if somebody was waiting there to rob them of their flour on the way home.”
Harley grinned. “It sure would be, Miss Caroline. It sure would be a shame. I’ll try not to mention it to any rascally rebel provisioners what might have an interest in your wheat flour. I don’t suppose two women could put up much of a fight to protect that flour.”
“Probably not,” Caroline agreed solemnly. “Probably not.”
“Good. Now let’s get this man of yours in here and see what we can do for him,” the barber said. “I’ve never met Garrett Faulkner himself, but I knew of his father. And if you say he can be trusted, that’s good enough for me.”
“I never said Garrett can be trusted,” Caroline answered. “I only said I’d stake my life he’s no British sympathizer.”
“One and the same,” Maude said.
Caroline shook her head and her heartbeat quickened as she remembered Reed and Amanda and all those at Fortune’s Gift who depended on her. “No,” she replied softly, “not the same thing at all.”
Much later, when Maude and Harley were gone, she and Garrett sat alone before the crackling hearth. They had not spoken for a quarter hour, and Caroline was listening to the soft swish of snowflakes hitting the frosted windows. She was sleepy, but she’d made no attempt to call someone to help her undress and prepare for bed.
There was only one bed in the room. She was very much aware of that fact, and she was certain Garrett was too.
She had remained in the chamber while the barber bathed and treated Garrett’s wound. Harley had resewn two stitches that had torn out during the struggle in the churchyard, and he had drenched the whole surface with horse liniment, then covered it with a strong-smelling salve and a clean bandage.
When he’d first uncovered the injury, Harley had leaned close and sniffed the area. “Smells good and ain’t leakin’ pus,” he’d said. “Somebody did good work here.”
“Either that, or I’m too mean to kill,” Garrett had said good-naturedly. “My father was once bitten by a water moccasin. He said the snake died.”
Maude had taken Garrett’s stained breeches and shirt. “I’ll soak the blood out of the trews,” she’d promised. “I’ll bring them back in the morning right as rain.”
Garrett now wore a blue and white banyan borrowed from the innkeeper’s clothes chest and soft leather slippers. The robe was old, but finely sewn of silk brocade and lined with striped cotton. Maude’s husband, William, was similar in height to Garrett, but much broader across the beam. Garrett had belted the garment around his waist to cover his nakedness. Caroline glimpsed only a few inches of bare chest and a flash of tanned ankles above and below the old-fashioned night robe.
Caroline still wore her gray and silver gown, her petticoats and shift, and her tightly laced stays, as well as her shoes and stockings. She had no intention of undressing in Garrett’s presence, but she was also dubious of finding any comfortable rest in her present clothing.
“You may take the bed tonight,” she finally said, breaking the silence between them. “Your leg must heal. You need your sleep.”
Garrett eyed her for a long time before answering, so long that she found herself wanting to squirm under his intense scrutiny. “I’d be no gentleman if I let my new bride sleep sitting up in a chair on our wedding night,” he said.
Caroline glanced toward the inviting bed. Curtains swathed the four-poster to protect from night drafts, and the feather tick was piled high with quilts and goose-down pillows. The bed glowed in the yellow circle of firelight, and she longed to climb in and snuggle down in the soft depths. “I have no intention of sharing a bed with you,” she replied.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I should have asked for separate rooms.”
He laughed. “What? And put Maude and William into the servants’ beds? You know as well as I do that the Queen’s Rose has one private bedchamber. Besides, what would your major think if you didn’t share a room with your new bridegroom?”
“He’s not my major,” she protested. The implications of this marriage were just beginning to settle in. Memories of Garrett’s searing kiss tantalized her, but she pushed them away. She must have been momentarily insane if she’d thought of doing anything improper with this man. Theirs was an arrangement, nothing more. She would be wise to keep a distance between them, more so in private than in public.
“If I didn’t guess his inclinations, I’d venture that Major Whitehead was infatuated with you himself.”
“Stuff and nonsense. Major Whitehead is a decent man, a gentleman, nothing more.”
“Rather something more. He’s an English officer of dragoons who’s quartered in your home. You wouldn’t be the first woman in such circumstances to—”
“Nothing has passed between the major and me.”
“I said if I didn’t guess his inclinations,” Garrett said with a chuckle. “It’s lucky he does favor you. You’d have poor shift with your cousin.”
Caroline glared at him. “The major is infatuated, all right, but not with me—with my ten thousand pounds. He wants the bribe, and I want my brother back alive. Can you understand that, Mr. Faulkner?”
“I think Garrett and Caroline would be better, considering our relationship.”
“Our relationship—as you put it—is a business one. I need your protection, and you need my money. Things will be simpler if we can maintain a respect for each other and—”
“Who said I didn’t respect you?” He laughed indulgently. “Didn’t I just offer you the only bed in the house?”
She unconsciously raised a hand to smooth the stray curls that fell over her face. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.
“Nor I with you, Caroline Faulkner. And you needn’t fear me, although you’d try the morals of a saint, sitting all rosy and soft here in the firelight. I’ve always loved women and they me. But I’ve never taken one by force and I’m not about to start now.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said, but her mouth was strangely dry, and she could not keep from noticing how a few strands of his wheat-brown hair had come loose from his queue. Garrett’s eyes had a way of seeming to undress her without ever being crude. He was no devil, but the thought came to her that if Satan had minions, Garrett might well fit the bill. “It’s foolish for both of us to sit up all night. Go to bed.”
“You go to bed.”
“I’ve no intention of taking off my clothes with you in the room,” she admitted.
“Ah, so you are afraid of me,” he teased.
“I am not. I just think we should establish some rules for our relationship.”
Rules for me, she thought frantically. All her life she had lived within a boundary of rules. As Caroline Talbot she was expected to do this and that; she was encased in a silver setting of conscience. She had been given many blessings as the heiress to Fortune’s Gift, but responsibilities weighed heavy on her shoulders. Now this man dared her to test the limits of her life, and she was afraid.
“You expect us to remain married for five years and never get undressed?”
“Don’t try to make me the fool,” she said. “At home, we will have separate bedrooms. Naturally, we will—”
“Pretend to be the loving couple,” he finished wryly. “Don’t think I will sit at your feet like a hound. I’ve business of my own to tend to. My own land . . . my—”
“No, of course not,” she interrupted. “And I am grateful. Reed’s safety depends on—”
“Reed’s safety. What of yours, Caroline?” His gray eyes were suddenly serious. “Are you such a paragon of virtue that you never think of what you want?”
“You mock me,” she
answered smoothly. “Do you think that because I am a woman, I can’t put my responsibilities ahead of my own wishes?” I know exactly what I want, she cried inwardly, but I dare not give in to those feelings. I dare not allow myself to become controlled by any man . . . let alone you.
He rose to his feet, took a step toward her, and groaned as he put weight on his bad leg.
“Oh,” she said. “Your wound. Let me . . .” She slipped her arm around him to assist him to bed. “Let me help you.” Suddenly she wasn’t beside him; somehow she was standing in the circle of his arms and he was staring down at her.
“Don’t,” she protested huskily.
“Don’t do what?” he asked. “This?”
He lowered his head and his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. Lightly . . . as lightly as a butterfly wing. Desire spiraled through her, and she began to shiver despite the heat from the open fireplace.
“Or this?” He kissed her ear and the curve of her neck beneath it.
She drew in a deep breath and slowly savored the sweet, wild sensations racing through her veins.
His fingers touched the nape of her neck, sliding between her hairline and the high ruffle of her silk gown. “Does this offend you?” he murmured, as his fingers traced minute circles across her skin. “Or this?”
His breath smelled of mint as his mouth covered hers. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue teasing as it glided across the surface of her teeth.
Caroline groaned softly, seeing clearly the trap he’d laid for her, yet willingly flying into it with arms outstretched. What harm, she told herself, as she surrendered to the delicious kiss, what harm can come of a few shared caresses?
His strong fingers slid down her spine, pressing, massaging, finding her cramped muscles and easing their stiffness. His hands were magic, and his mouth . . . Caroline’s knees went weak. His mouth was sheer sorcery, and she was tinder to his flame.
Her senses swirled. She felt as though she had been drinking the strongest wine, but she knew it wasn’t wine that intoxicated her—it was Garrett’s touch.
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