Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

  Nathan didn’t know whether to laugh in amusement or scoff at the absurdity. “Where on earth did you ever hear of such a thing?”

  “I only now just thought of it. This might come as a shock to you and all other men, but we women do have brains and imagination, and we can come up with ideas just as readily as you men. I say this idea makes just as much sense as invading Russia.”

  “’Twas Boney who did that,” Nathan reminded her.

  “And he was a man. Oh, and has a woman ever come up with the idea of wagering her brother at a game of whist?”

  “Point taken. Men are just as capable of harebrained schemes as women. I think we’ve both proven that in the past three days.”

  As they approached, the coachman finally jumped down from his box and opened the carriage door.

  Out stepped a man in the absolute first stare of fashion. Nathan’s heart sank. Not another popinjay.

  “Do you need a ride somewhere?” the man queried. “We were married just this morning, and only going as far as the next village, but my bride absolutely insists we be Good Samaritans.” He, for his part, sounded very much as if he would’ve preferred to be the Bad Levite who crossed to the far side of the road and left them for dead.

  “How fascinating,” Katherine piped up. “We’re newly married, too. But we missed the stage at the last village, so here we are.”

  Nathan held out a hand. “Nathan Fraser. And this is…the bride.”

  The man sketched a slight bow. “How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser? I am George Driscoll, at your service.” He offered his own hand, encased in a white glove.

  Nathan stood back as Katherine boarded first, and he heard the new Mrs. Driscoll immediately exhort her to sit next to her.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t do that!” Katherine replied. “Surely you’d rather sit next to your new husband?”

  “I’ll have fifty years to do that. Please do sit next to me, Mrs. Fraser.”

  Driscoll shot Nathan a pained look. “Do help me out, Fraser?”

  Nathan finally boarded the carriage and took the seat facing backward, across from Mrs. Driscoll, who was still dressed in full bridal regalia. Katherine stood hunched over in the carriage, as if she couldn’t decide whether to accommodate her hostess or her pretend husband. All he could see from his new perch was her rather charming backside, but it was difficult to make out the shape, as it was draped in gray wool.

  Somewhere under that cumbersome pelisse was surely a gently curved, firm derriere with a soft, sweet cleft, just like a ripe peach. After what she’d said earlier about having seen “quite a bit” of him, he couldn’t resist. They were pretending to be newlyweds, weren’t they? He reached out to cup one of her nether cheeks.

  Just as he expected, she yelped, bumped her head on the ceiling of the carriage, and plopped down on the seat next to him, on his right. The skirt of her pelisse fell open on his side, revealing an expanse of blue sprigged muslin. She gave him an astonished glare, while he only offered an arch smile.

  Lastly, Driscoll boarded the carriage, banging his fist on the ceiling before sitting next to Mrs. Driscoll. The carriage lurched into motion.

  “Only what about your baggage?” asked Mrs. Driscoll. “You’ll have nothing to wear!”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Nathan said with great relish, as he took Katherine’s gloved left hand into his right one. “What need do we have of all those extra clothes, eh, my love? After all, we’re newlyweds!”

  She stared back at him with wide eyes and a big frozen grin. He wondered if she was thinking about the other morning, when she’d seen—well, quite a big bit of him. Their hands were clasped on her lap, over her left thigh to be exact, and Nathan could barely feel the ridge of her garter beneath the sprigged muslin. She made no move to adjust her pelisse.

  “How did you miss the stage?” asked Mrs. Driscoll, who looked much younger than Katherine—how old was Katherine, anyway?—and was much more buxom, her bosoms ready to spill out of the bodice of her wedding gown. It was hard not to stare. No wonder Mr. Driscoll had seemed reluctant to offer them a ride. The poor man probably couldn’t wait.

  “We stopped at the last posting house for luncheon,” Nathan said as he squeezed Katherine’s hand, for something told him if he let go of it, she might well box his ears for what he said next. “And of course, because we’re newlyweds…well, we just couldn’t wait till we stopped for the night, could we, my dear?”

  To his pleasant surprise, she made no move to let go of his hand, or even cosh him—but she did look a little pinker than usual, and she averted her gaze.

  “I’m afraid we lost track of the time,” she murmured. “So the stage departed without us, leaving us with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

  “Only they weren’t really on our backs at the time, were they?” Nathan couldn’t resist saying, and Driscoll guffawed, while his bride looked rather horrified. Nathan wondered if she had any idea what he was even talking about.

  She leaned toward Katherine, and for a moment Nathan thought her bosoms would swing right out of her bodice into Katherine’s lap. “May I see your ring?”

  Fortunately it was her left hand that was securely tucked into Nathan’s, and he squeezed it harder, this time in warning, nearly pressing it into her thigh.

  “Oh, it’s just a ring,” she said. “It looks like any other wedding ring, you know. Round and made of gold. At least I hope it’s made of gold. We’ll find out when I take it off for my bath and see if it’s left a green mark on my finger.”

  Nathan suddenly thought of her taking off everything for a bath, and he felt a deliciously hot quiver in his groin.

  What would she look like naked, ready to step into her bath—or even step out of it, with sudsy water sliding down her slight curves?

  Maybe it was because he’d been so long without a woman, or maybe he’d lost his wits from spending all this time in her company—but he suddenly wished to see quite a bit more of this unusual woman.

  “Oh, do let me see your ring,” Mrs. Driscoll pleaded, as she peeled off her own gloves. “I’ll show you mine.”

  Katherine kept her hand firmly in Nathan’s, still clasped over her gartered thigh. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I already know what it looks like. Round and made of gold.”

  Mrs. Driscoll held out her hand for Katherine’s inspection.

  “Just as I thought,” she said. “It looks exactly like mine.”

  “Really? Do let me see, Mrs. Fraser!”

  Katherine placed her right hand on Nathan’s right arm, squeezing his bicep. “But then I’d have to let go of my husband’s hand. And I don’t think I ever want to let him go.”

  Maybe it was the way she was leaning into him, but it felt to Nathan as if she was pushing his hand, clasped in hers, deeper into her thigh. He could definitely feel her garter now, and with his fingertips he toyed with the very bottom edge of it then slid his fingertips to find the lumpy bump where she’d tied it.

  “You seem a very lucky man, Fraser,” remarked Driscoll, though he peered at Katherine with a furrowed brow, as if trying to ascertain just what the devil Nathan saw in this plain, bespectacled woman that he might have married her and missed a stage connection because he took advantage of a stop for luncheon to feast on her instead of food.

  “I can’t complain,” Nathan admitted. And that was the truth, at least for this moment.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” said Katherine. “But I’m terribly exhausted from all the walking and would like to take a nap.”

  “Just the walking?” Nathan asked slyly.

  Her only response was to slap his right arm before resting her head on his shoulder.

  Soon Nathan began nodding off, lulled by the steady rocking of the carriage.

  “Stop it,” he heard Mrs. Driscoll whisper heatedly. “Honestly, Mr. Driscoll, can’t you wait till we reach the inn?”

  “We’re married now. Which means you can call me George—and I can touch your—”
/>   Mrs. Driscoll shrieked, causing both Nathan and Katherine to jerk upright.

  “Are we there yet?” asked Katherine.

  “Far from it,” Mr. Driscoll grumbled.

  But even as he said it, they entered a village, rolling to a stop in front of an inn.

  Nathan heaved a sigh of relief as he spotted Bilby sitting on his trunk.

  Katherine leaned across him to peer out the window. “I don’t see my portmanteau. If your manservant forgot to remove my portmanteau from the stage, then I’ll have nothing to wear.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, my dear,” Nathan assured her. “Don’t forget, we’re newlyweds.”

  Mrs. Driscoll started to cry. Nathan only hoped Katherine wouldn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate emerged from the carriage behind Nathan, and ran past him to confront Bilby. “Where’s my portmanteau? Please tell me I can’t see it because it’s behind that trunk.” The same trunk upon which Bilby was roosting.

  He only gawked at her as if she might be a ghost. Then again, he’d been gawking at her that way from the outset. Kate dodged around him but alas, there was nothing behind him and Nathan’s trunk but the inn.

  Panic clawed at her. Everything she had in the world had been—no, was, because she refused to believe she’d never see it again—in that portmanteau. All she had were the very clothes on her back—and while she’d enjoyed the way Nathan had flirted with her in the Driscolls’ carriage, even if he was only pretending, she was suddenly in no mood for his ribald newlywed jokes.

  Bilby parted his lips. “Miss Ha—”

  “Bilby, don’t say a word,” Nathan said curtly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that under duress, you have the most vexing tendency to call people things they’d rather not be called.”

  “I’m feeling a rather vexing tendency right now to call both of you things you’d rather not be called,” snapped Kate.

  “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this,” Nathan said. “’Twould seem that when Bilby disembarked here, naturally he took only his baggage and mine, while yours remains on the stage until such time as someone farther south pronounces it unclaimed and abandoned and leaves it somewhere.”

  Bilby nodded dumbly and vigorously.

  “He probably thought I’d left you behind at the last stop, or even sent you back to your mother,” Nathan went on.

  “I’m sure you were tempted,” Kate muttered.

  Now Bilby shook his head. “You never would’ve left her behind, Mr. Fraser,” he said with a deep conviction that baffled Kate.

  “Of course not, no matter how tempting. And that’s why I’ve decided we should be husband and wife.” He shot a glance at the Driscolls’ carriage and lowered his voice. “But in name only, you understand.”

  “I believe I do, Mr. Fraser.”

  Kate felt an odd sinking feeling, but maybe that was because she’d spent the past hour in a carriage that had rolled up one hill and down another. Also, it was starting to rain. If they were unable to convince the innkeeper that they were married, they might have to move on in foul weather, and she wasn’t sure the Driscolls would be doing likewise if the bridegroom had his way. Even now he was pleading with his bride to quit the carriage.

  “I want to keep traveling,” came her muffled whines from the interior. “I want to reach London as soon as possible.”

  “Dearest, the next inn may be miles away. It’s late and it’s starting to rain,” Mr. Driscoll argued. “Even if we continued to London without stopping, driving through the night, we still wouldn’t get there for at least two days. We all need our rest.”

  Kate turned back to Nathan. “Aren’t you glad I’m not as keen to reach London as she is?”

  “I concede you’re not without your redeeming points,” he replied. “I wonder if I should offer my assistance. He looks as if he’s trying to—oh, never mind. Here she comes. She’s like a newborn calf, wobbly legs and all.”

  As Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll stumbled by on their way into the inn, Nathan loudly said, “Now don’t be too hard on Bilby, my dear. He’s worked for me for many years, so he’s accustomed to handling only my baggage. He’s still trying to adjust to the fact that I now have a wife.” He paused, as if to take a breath, but Kate knew it was really only for effect when he rolled his eyes and added, “As am I.”

  She planted her fists on her hips. “Just for that, you can sleep in the taproom tonight.”

  “I was rather counting on that anyway,” he grumbled. “I’m expecting you to be a reluctant bride, just like Mrs. Driscoll.”

  Mystified, she asked, “What do you mean, reluctant?” He was the one who was being reluctant. If Kate was reluctant about anything, it was going back to Bellingham Hall.

  “Never mind,” he said as he turned to go inside the inn. “Let us see about getting a room.”

  Kate still stood there, as did Bilby, who finally spoke. “I’m truly sorry, Miss—Miss—oh, I have no idea what I should call you now.”

  “Mrs. Fraser, of course,” she replied. “I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you when he gets the chance. And, Bilby, you needn’t apologize about my portmanteau. It’s not your fault, but mine. I’m the one who should be sleeping in the taproom.”

  The occasional raindrops turned into a drizzle, and she proceeded into the inn, where she sat on the bench next to the sulking Mrs. Driscoll while their respective menfolk bespoke rooms.

  Mrs. Driscoll blew her nose into a lacy handkerchief. “Mrs. Fraser,” she said in a timid whisper. “You say you’ve been married for several days now. Then you must know—is it really as bad as they say?”

  “Not at all. Why, these have been the three most wonderful days of my life.” She fixed her gaze on Nathan’s broad back as he stood at the counter and signed the register and answered the innkeeper’s question as to whether his wife was also Scottish.

  “Actually, we’re both English,” he said. “I was born in London, but I’ve bided in Scotland for most of my life, so you might say I’ve managed to pick up some of their more savage ways. I’m hoping she’ll tame me.” He turned to cast her an amused glance, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

  She didn’t know which she’d enjoyed more today—walking with him, thus being able to talk and get to know each other better, or riding next to him in the Driscolls’ carriage, where he’d put on quite a jolly show of flirting with her.

  No man had ever flirted with Kate before, and even though she knew he’d only been pretending for the Driscolls’ benefit, still she’d reveled in every wicked moment of it. His casual endearments—my dear and my love—had set her heart dancing with a strange thrill she’d never felt before—because she’d never been called those delights before. She was quite sure he’d purposely placed his hand on her derriere, startling her into sitting across from Mrs. Driscoll instead of next to her. She’d loved the feel of his hard thigh against hers, as well as her hand in his, especially since he never let go of it until they arrived. She’d longed to remove her glove so she could feel his skin against hers, but then their hosts would have known they weren’t married. Wonderful warmth had curled through her as the weight of his large hand pressed into her thigh, right over her garter. There had been moments when she thought he might have tried to loosen the garter through the layers of wool and muslin and cambric. She could have sworn she’d felt his thumb moving imperceptibly over the bow that held her stocking in place.

  She smiled at the memory.

  Mrs. Driscoll nudged into her steamy reverie. “Tell me, Mrs. Fraser—did it hurt very much when Mr. Fraser took you?”

  “It didn’t hurt at all,” Kate said blithely. “I wanted him to take me.”

  “But weren’t you at all frightened?”

  Kate looked back on that moment at the Blue Rooster, when she’d convinced Nathan to take her to London so as to teach Freddy a lesson. “I’ll admit to being a bit apprehensive at first, because we barely knew each oth
er. But I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

  “Of course you’ll have to do it all over again, just as I will, and I haven’t even done it yet. We’re married.” Mrs. Driscoll said it in the same tone she might have used to say, “We’re condemned.”

  Nathan called out, “Come along, Katherine.”

  The innkeeper showed her and Nathan upstairs to a cozy room furnished with a large bed that could easily sleep two people. She wondered if he still meant to bed down in the taproom.

  Nathan waited till Bilby brought in his trunk and left, and then he closed the door behind him. He opened the trunk and started rummaging around while Kate primly sat in the only chair, trying not to look at the bed that seemed to take up far too much space in the room.

  It was either that or look at Nathan. So she looked at Nathan, who seemed quite intent on excavating something from his trunk.

  He was very handsome. She even liked his aquiline nose, and unlike the previous Duke of Loring, whom she’d seen a few times in London, he had a chin with a deep cleft in its very middle. His dark hair, longer than current fashion, fell in thick strands over his forehead and curled over his collar. Stubble shadowed the lower part of his face. If not for his dark-blue coat and fawn-colored breeches tucked into tall, black Hessians, she might have thought he was a wild savage planning to ravish her.

  He drew a small, ornately carved, wooden box from the trunk and straightened up to his full height. The top of his head almost grazed the whitewashed ceiling.

  Kate felt a strangely pleasurable tremor in her core, and she glanced back at the bed, trying to picture him lying on it. Next to her.

  Naked.

  She felt that tremor again and licked her lips.

  “Here we go,” he said cheerfully. “My mother’s ring.”