Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

by Liz Tyner

  Now, she could study him, yet she couldn’t. When her eyes rested on Brandt, it wasn’t as if she saw him, but felt him. Men didn’t even go about with their waistcoat unbuttoned and he had no shirt on. Which, she decided, was acceptable in trying times.

  Drunken kidnappers shouldn’t wear shirts. If he was a lord, this attire would have been unacceptable. But he was from base society and he had no qualms about a state of undress. She could accept these tavern-crowd rules quite easily. Especially as the rags of his clothing covered something she was sure, even with her inexperience in the matter, was worthy of perusal.

  His eyes, half-concealed in the shadows, met hers.

  ‘Is there anything normal about you?’ he asked.

  Staying on the floor, she pulled her knees up, hugged them with her arms. ‘I’m terribly normal and boring.’

  ‘Normal?’

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t have to think. ‘And quite boring as I have had to be to keep Augustine from noticing me.’ She scooted to rest against the wall opposite Brandt. ‘If I reacted with any appearance of anything but happy acceptance of what he might do, it was like a mouse dancing in front of a cat. He prefers to sharpen his claws on the skin of those around him, except his nephew. He thinks Fillmore an image of himself. Which is true, only a dark image.’

  Brandt leaned back against the wall, staring at her. ‘You could not claw back?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not when my mother was sick. And he has my sister in his grasp. I must make a home for us before he sends her away. When my grandfather left funds to my mother, he didn’t think of what could happen. She wouldn’t have wanted me forced to marry Fillmore. She loved Gussie even though Mother was too sick to care for her. Because she doesn’t speak, Augustine thinks her mind is damaged. He calls her a little rodent and she keeps out of the way of his feet.’

  He sat, filling up her eyes with his shoulders. Looking not a bit like any tavern fare she’d ever heard of. No wonder those fallen women flocked to taverns. It was not all for the ale as she’d thought.

  But he had to stop that elixir.

  She reached up, touching her nose. It was working too well.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, standing, the covers falling aside. He took a step towards her. His fingers were long, sturdy and one arm reached to her. Oh, he would be breathing all over and touching her, too. It would not be good.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She jerked her hand from her nose. ‘Just making sure I did not get too much sun on my nose. Without my bonnet it has been a trial.’

  He took a step closer, examining her eyes. ‘We’ve not been in much sunshine.’

  She took a sideways step. ‘My skin. I’m very sensitive to the sunshine in the air.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re fine? I truly didn’t mean to—I’m not at all used to—And to wake up with your hair tickling my face.’ Then his eyes darkened. ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘I’m used to sleeping with my cat on the bed. He purrs. And I must have heard you snoring and snuggled close.’

  ‘Look, Nigel. I don’t snore. And you don’t sleepwalk.’ He groaned.

  She tilted her head back. ‘Some kidnapper you are.’ She arranged the twisted trousers and the too-large shirt, knowing she did little to improve her appearance. ‘I would appreciate a little more politeness.’

  He looked at her and a lazy grin spread across his face. ‘So would I. Keep to your own bed and I’ll keep to mine.’ He reached for his shirt. ‘You’ve made me most polite. I now wear trousers to sleep in. Are you disappointed?’

  ‘I did not pay any notice to you. A lady does not.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You sleepwalk right close to a man. Kind of makes me wonder what you’re dreaming about.’

  ‘Not you.’ She blinked wide, emphasising her words. ‘I could not marry a man willing to live in the sorry state I found you. I wish for someone like myself. A man of honour and good values. An example for others.’

  His face took on a boyish look and he seemed to discard an answer. ‘I hear the women talk—granted they aren’t chaste women—but they do not have their hearts set on the vicar noticing them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Some imp forced her to lean ever so slightly closer to him. ‘You only know of the tavern women. You must admit, they do not live pure lives themselves. Decent women are different.’

  He looked at her and somehow managed to tell her with one little hint of humour on his lips and a tiny movement of his eyes that she had no experience of the world. ‘I guess I cannot speak for the women who lust after the saints of the world,’ he muttered. ‘Those wholesome ones who dream of long winter nights sitting by the fire with their husbands while knitting shawls. But, Nigel,’ he said, laughter behind his eyes, ‘something tells me you will not be happy with a husband who puts a cosy wrap around himself and falls asleep early. Watching where your eyes roam—waking with you half in my arms, pressing against my private parts, I admit, you’ve got a rather interesting side to you a man might find quite enjoyable.’

  Katherine’s thoughts blasted in her head. She’d slept through the most important event of the night.

  He moved forward and touched the side of her chin, locking her in place. Her knees wanted to wobble right back to the floor.

  ‘Truly, if you weren’t a lady—’ One side of his mouth smiled, but the laughter left his face. ‘What does it matter? You’re—’ He stepped back, dropping his hand. ‘To touch you is to tempt the fates to bring me more trials and I’m not strong enough to bear what I’ve already got.’

  And he didn’t even want to touch her. What a cad to admit that. A low-living, twisted, breathing, kidnapping, naked sleeping man who did not deserve one moment of thought from her.

  ‘I will not sleepwalk again, I am sure.’

  ‘Don’t rule it out, completely.’ He gave the lightest touch to the back of her hand. ‘I promise to wake you gently, should it happen again.’ He moved closer, leaned his head towards her and then leaned in even closer.

  She felt he was trying to scare her away and she understood.

  Being awakened softly by Brandt would change her life. ‘I prefer to awaken alone.’ She raised her chin. If he believed that, she imagined she could also convince him to buy the Tower from her.

  ‘Well, I shall return to sleep,’ he said, settling back onto the floor, and tossing her the blanket she’d used. ‘You can join me, or sit there and plan another kidnapping.’

  She knew she dared not crawl back beside him. She could barely breathe without his elixir fluttering all around her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Katherine knew she’d slept little more than an hour—even after Brandt finally quit grumbling at her. Little slivers of daylight brightened the room through the cracks around the closed shutters.

  Too much had happened for her mind to rest.

  She’d been taken, was housed in a near stable, had the taste of dust in her mouth and could hear the rumble of a man’s breathing as he slept.

  Other than the moments with her mother, this was the best day of her life.

  She looked at the boards overhead. She was in a man’s shirt. Her muscles felt stiff. But, she could stand a bit more of it if it meant starting a new life without her stepfather or Fillmore in it.

  After her mother passed away, her stepfather never absented a room Katherine was in without telling her how her mother had wronged them all. Her mother had wanted to die—he was certain. If she’d done as he told her and not taken to her bed so easily, she’d still be alive.

  Giving her stepfather a taste of what he deserved meant a bit of hardship, but Katherine didn’t mind. She relished it. The discomfort meant she might be able to keep Gussie from her stepfather and keep herself from Fillmore.

  Fillmore’s eyes darted when he looked at her, reminding her of a lizard she’d once seen in the gardens. At least the lizard didn’t drool. She pulled the saddle blanket tight around her. Brandt was so different than Fillmore.

  Brandt’s arms—they�
�d locked her in place when he’d held her away from the gun. When she pushed against them, they’d not moved enough to indicate her strength could ever topple him. She caught the direction of her thoughts and the way her body filled with a cosy warmth. The governess was right. She’d got too close to his air.

  The soft rumbles he made as he slept sounded pleasant. Comforting. But she supposed she should take care. With each rasp, he sent out a burst of elixir.

  Brandt had kissed her ear after she’d lost the gun. And she’d almost shivered when she’d felt a kiss on her neck and he’d followed it with a preposterous tiny lick.

  The lick. How odd. And not unpleasant.

  She’d been shocked by Brandt’s touch—shocked at the warm sensation he caused. Maybe some of the elixir slipped through his fingertips.

  Then, he’d kissed her again. The kiss was an odd thing for Brandt to do. He had the tavern women for his affections.

  Perhaps he knew how Fillmore disgusted her and he wished to do the same. That was it, she was certain. He’d been trying to disgust her.

  His arms had been holding her snug against his body and he’d not felt at all repulsive. Instead, he’d made her feel buttery. And he’d probably disgusted himself with his behaviour. He’d certainly been more irritable afterwards.

  He’d grumbled so much she’d been ready to put a palm over his mouth.

  She glanced across at his sleeping form.

  Katherine thought of Fillmore. She’d seen too much of him when he was fully clothed. Any more of him and she’d cast up her accounts and throw herself straight into Brandt’s arms.

  She turned, resting her cheek against the rough fibres of the saddle blanket and ignoring the horse scent.

  Brandt’s raspy sleep sounds kept tickling her thoughts. Every time he gave a little murmur in his sleep, she felt a warming sensation to her toes. The air was deadly.

  His head was turned and his arm was over his face. One booted foot was on the floor.

  She had to get out of the room because she couldn’t quit looking at him.

  *

  Katherine stood, the shirt hanging past her hips. She didn’t want Brandt to see her so unkempt.

  With a hand holding the trousers in place under her shirt, she tiptoed beside him.

  His snores didn’t stop. She wondered if sleeping elixir was stronger than the waking one. The air spun around her, sweeping over her, warming her with the same intensity of the sun.

  She let her eyes run the length of his body. The drink must agree with him.

  Katherine turned, reaching to pull out the dress from the bag. But she paused. She wanted to remain a man for a bit longer. See how it felt. She straightened her shoulders and put a snarl on her lips. Easy to do when wearing clothing made from a brush pile that rested over bunched underclothes.

  She went outside to find the water pump she’d seen in the night, giving one last look at Brandt before she left.

  Thistle heads popped up from the sea of weeds surrounding the structure, but the horses had tramped a path the night before and the trips to the pump made another trail. No one arriving would think the place ignored now.

  The pump handle took both hands and the screech when she raised the lever reminded her of a scream.

  She stilled, raised her eyes and looked to the road. Surely no one could have followed them.

  The thought of Augustine’s eyes, pinched black, lurched into her mind. If he found her now, he would beat her and then turn her over to Fillmore. Another pet had escaped and what he could not control, he would destroy.

  She lifted the pump handle again, moving cautiously to minimise the rasping metal.

  When she returned to the room, her chemise tucked over her arm, and the borrowed clothes no fresher than the day before, she noticed Brandt’s closed eyes.

  She stared at the sleeping form on the floor and knew nothing would ever be the same in her life.

  They had no time to waste. Brandt had to get the ransom so she could hide herself away. She didn’t think the air was truly healthy for her.

  The governess had a blind aunt in Warwickshire and, once Katherine received the money, they were to meet there. The funds would secure their safety and from there they would go further north, changing into the family they wanted.

  Before she found Brandt, she’d confided in her cousin that she might leave quickly and not to worry about her. It had been a tearful moment, but her cousin had understood. She’d wished Katherine well and even asked if she might visit them later. Katherine had agreed, but told her they couldn’t contact each other again until after Augustine died. It would be too risky.

  She looked down at the sleeping man. Brandt’s closed eyes and rumbling breaths gave him the appearance of a man without a care. And surely he was.

  She nudged his calf with the toe of her boot. He mumbled and she wasn’t certain the word she heard was suitable for her ears. She didn’t know what it meant and she thought she knew all the swear words.

  She tapped her boot against his leg again.

  His body snapped sideways and, before she realised he’d awoken, he trapped her ankle in his hand.

  Her balance wavered, but he held her as firmly as if she’d been shackled.

  She bounced a bit to regain her poise, but his fingers didn’t lessen their grip, and his eyes were dark and his lips firm as he looked up at her.

  ‘I have waited near an hour for you to wake.’ She put her hands on her hips.

  Eyes stared up from the scruffy face. ‘You could have waited at least an hour and a half. Maybe two. You should have learned by now I don’t take well to being woken early.’

  Even though boot leather and trouser fabric separated his skin from hers, the warmth of his hand and the strength of his grip erased all the separations. She stood over him, looking down, but his grasp made her the prisoner of the two.

  He didn’t release her.

  ‘Are you quite finished with my ankle yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Nigel.’ He gave her the smallest tug and she had to move closer to him. ‘I’d forgotten we dressed you in trousers and shirt. You nearly shocked me out of a year’s growth when I looked up and saw a woman inside those clothes.’

  She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. ‘If you are finding fault with my shirt, you have only yourself to blame.’

  ‘I assume you do not like it because it is not stylish—although it definitely suits you better than those bonnets.’

  ‘This waistcoat is so large I can pull it over my head without unbuttoning it.’ She tugged it away from her body. ‘And I had to tear a scrap of fabric from my chemise to hold the trousers in place.’

  She touched the frayed sash she’d made from the hem of her chemise. ‘I’d dress better if I were a thief.’

  ‘Aren’t you, though?’

  His whiskers near looked a beard he needed shaved so badly. His eyes had smudges, but sparkled with something she’d never seen on his face before. He looked more like an animal about to pounce than a human. Yet, she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away and he didn’t seem inclined to release his grasp.

  ‘I’m not a true criminal.’ She twisted her foot, but he didn’t release her. ‘I’m taking what I should have. Or I will soon. My grandfather had made certain my mother was to get an inheritance, but no one made any provisions about what would happen if she were to marry. Augustine took care of that.’

  He yawned. His grip on her ankle tightened and he shut his eyes. ‘I believe I’ll go back to sleep.’

  She tried to pull her leg free. She couldn’t budge except to put her foot to the floor. She did, leaned down and pinched his nostrils closed. Then she breathed in deeply, trying to judge if the air changed.

  His eyes opened, stared at her and he released his grip on her ankle. She stood upright.

  ‘What kind of woman pinches a man’s nose?’ he asked.

  ‘One with her ankle trapped.’

  ‘One point for you there,’ he said. ‘And since you are s
tanding, why don’t you bring some water so I can wash up’

  ‘Do I look like a valet?’

  ‘No. You look like someone from the tavern. Not one of the finer ones either.’

  She turned and gave a hitch to her trousers. ‘I’ll prepare a meal for you.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Why are you not wearing the lady’s garment you brought?’

  ‘It is in desperate need of an iron.’ She pointed to the garment she’d hung on a hat peg. ‘Besides, a criminal must stay in disguise.’ She practised a manly swagger and put masculinity into her voice.

  She heard his groan.

  ‘Nigel, whatever you do, don’t try to convince anyone you’re a man. Hunker down and pretend to be a youth, and you might get away with it, but no one’s going to believe you can grow a single chin whisker.’

  ‘You’ve enough for the both of us,’ she mumbled before turning her attention to her clothing. After tucking the shirt back into her trousers, she tightened the belt scrap she’d made, and pulled the shoulder of her waistcoat back into place.

  She looked at him in time to see him lower his eyes.

  She turned, reaching into the saddlebag which had been on his horse. A burst of pride hit her to think he might have some fascination with her appearance. Then she looked down. No, he stared because he’d never seen anyone dressed in a waistcoat with candle wax on it. Neither had she.

  Pulling out one of the wrapped parcels he’d brought along, she opened it, looked inside and then folded the paper back. ‘Cheese.’ She pushed the paper back over the food. She looked at him. ‘I’ve really never cooked cheese before.’

  His body moved in one fluid motion as he stood and he held the parcel in his left hand. He used his right to reach into the scabbard at his side and pull a knife out. Then he opened the paper.

  Slicing a few slivers of cheese, he walked to the door, tossing the food into his mouth as he moved. Then he went outside.