Perhaps she’d stay a full fortnight, but an additional month from James? Rose stood and with one last look around her new garden, she returned inside. No, not an entire month. They’d never be able to work on their marriage if she stayed that long.
But she did need to show him, prove to him, she was not in danger. That whatever happened, she was prepared to take care of herself. To that end, she promised herself she’d write him after her interviews.
Rose stopped and looked around the cottage. The rooms were large, again not to James’s townhouse size but very well appointed. However, she saw no desk. Frowning, she strode through the rooms, searching for a writing desk.
Finally, pushed in the far corner, she found one. Relieved, she opened the top, only to discover that while the desk was well stocked with paper, it had no ink.
“How can there be no ink?” she asked aloud.
More importantly, how long until the first woman arrived for the interview? It didn’t matter—she needed ink.
Finding her spencer jacket, she swiftly put it on and left the cottage. If she hurried, she could make it the mile to town and back before too much time passed. Plus the day was beautiful and warming nicely, and the walk would do her good, allowing her to clear her head and maybe order her thoughts for her letter to James.
With quick and confident steps, she started for town. Headed toward her was a horse and rider, and Rose looked up curiously. According to Mr. Jones, the road was very quiet, not a lot of traffic. Perhaps this was a neighbor?
Rose frowned. Not a neighbor. She knew that man.
“James?” she asked, her voice breaking in shock.
Rose blinked up at the rider as the horse slowed to a stop several paces from her. Before she could even think of what to say, James had dismounted and closed the few paces between them.
His hands were warm on her suddenly chilled skin. He cupped her shoulders, ran his hands down her arms, over her back. Tilted her chin up and studied her face. He looked frantic. His eyes were wild as he looked her over, jumping from her face to her shoulder to her hands.
Relief made his shoulders sag and was so evident on his face. His breath rushed through him, and when she met his gaze, Rose swore she saw tears shining in his eyes. It was so clear to her, his gratefulness she was there. She was alive.
“Rose,” he breathed and hugged her close.
Too shocked to do more than stand there as he held her tight, Rose breathed in the scent of him. James was warm and familiar, but what was he doing here?
“How could you have possibly found me?” she asked, utterly shocked.
Pushing back, she looked up at him. In the bright, sunny day, he looked like a man crazed, with dark circles beneath his eyes and his face unshaven. And his hands shook. A fine tremor ran along the normally strong and confident fingers.
He kissed her forehead, her temple, her jaw. His hands curled over her shoulders and slid along the nape of her neck.
“I wasn’t going to stop until I found you,” he said, his voice rough.
Voices startled her, and Rose jerked back. She had neighbors who no doubt stood at their windows and watched her on the street with a strange man. She was already the new woman in Kingsnorth—no need to add fuel to the gossip so soon in her stay.
Even if—and especially if—James was her husband.
“Let’s go inside,” she instructed. Her voice sounded firmer than she thought it would, with the way her heart pounded and her stomach swooped.
Turning sharply on her heel, she didn’t look back but knew James had taken the horse’s reins and followed her. It wasn’t far to her cottage, only a matter of minutes. Not nearly long enough or far enough for her to compose herself.
Unlocking the front door, she stalked to the parlor and waited for him to tie his horse to the post, only to whirl around and face him. Yes, he was there. He’d found her. Rose blinked again, but he did not disappear.
“James,” she said the moment the door closed behind him, “you should not have come looking for me. I told you I was fine and would write you later.”
She shook her head, thoughts racing round and round. Bewildered, she stood in her front parlor, the sunlight still streaming through the large windows, and watched her husband.
“How did you find me?” she asked again. “I don’t understand how you could’ve possibly found me!”
During the short walk from the street to the cottage, he seemed to have relaxed. Rose hadn’t realized how tightly he held himself until she saw the difference now. His shoulders were not quite as stiff, and the lines around his eyes and mouth softened.
James stood only a half dozen paces from her, and Rose didn’t know if that distance was too much or not nearly enough.
“When Wilson told me you’d not returned with him,” James began slowly, his voice gravelly and harsh, “I lost my mind. I went to the dress shop, and that very moment I told myself I’d try to follow your logic.”
He cleared his throat, and Rose only managed a nod. Words escaped her, and at least a nod seemed safe. Or neutral.
“I found the closest coach stop and took the very next offering,” he continued, his eyes so very dark and focused solely on her. “I stopped at every single town on its route ,inquiring over you until I reached Kingsnorth and found Mr. Jones.”
“Oh,” she mouthed.
“He informed me he’d rented a cottage to a Mrs. Hamilton,” James said, his voice only now cracking.
She’d used her married name—of course she had. She wasn’t trying to hide from James or her father. But to prove a point to her increasingly paranoid husband.
Rose closed the distance between them without knowing she’d moved. His face was warm beneath her fingers, jaw scratchy from too many days unshaven. But she ran her thumb along his cheek, her heart pounding with warmth from his words.
She never knew anyone could love her as much as James did. Yes, he was paranoid, and, yes, he locked her in their home, but the fear on his face had been genuine. And the absolute relief at finding her alive was equally sincere. And made her, for a moment, sorry she left him as she had.
With only a note as she ran from London.
However, it was difficult assuaging his fears and asserting her right not to be locked in the house. Shaking her head, she dropped her hand and stepped back. Clearing her throat, she looked at him.
“I explained in my letter I needed this time away.” Her voice sounded harder than she meant, and it was only then that Rose realized that, while she was thrilled to see him, she was also still extremely angry with James.
“You should not have sought me out,” she said between clenched teeth.
James took a deep breath but did not cross the room. He gave one short nod. “You are right. And you have every right to be angry with me. I know my actions have been irrational.”
He stopped and cleared his throat, a small, very small, hint of a smile tugging his lips. Not in humor, Rose thought, but in acknowledgement.
“And I’ve no other explanation but what I’ve already given you,” he said and moved the slightest bit forward. “Now that I know you are well…” James trailed off and looked around the parlor for the first time. “If you desire to be left on your own,” he said, then stopped and took a deep breath, “I shall return to London.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
CONFUSED AND STUNNED, Rose only managed to stare at him. The James before her was an entirely different man than the one she left five days ago. She didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand this change or what brought it about. There were two different Jameses in front of her—one relieved she lived but wasn’t angry and paranoid, and the one she left in London, the one who locked her in their home.
They’d screamed at each other before she left. It hadn’t changed his mind about locking her in the house or having her movements followed.
Now, mere days later—four days without her—he’d completely changed.
Clearly he hadn’t slep
t in those days. Rose thought that lack of sleep might only escalate his desperation. However, the man standing before her wasn’t angry or desperate. Rather, James was tired and relieved.
James nodded as if in agreement of her thoughts then turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called.
Clearly he did not understand her thoughts and took her silence to mean rejection.
“I don’t want you to go,” she admitted in a soft voice.
His entire face transformed with the brilliance of his smile, and it tugged sharply at Rose’s heart. James took a step forward and she held up a hand, stopping him immediately.
“But,” she cautioned. She licked her lips and swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t want to return to London now. Not yet.” She took a deep breath and spoke from her heart. “Let’s see what life is like outside the townhouse.”
What our life is like, she meant. What it was like just the two of them and no homage to Scotland or to the past or to anything of his. Just this cottage, with none of their personal items and only the two of them.
Rose swallowed again and nodded. James’s smile didn’t waver and, if possible, widened. His eyes lightened, and Rose swore she saw a weight being lifted from his shoulders.
“I’m only home when I’m with you,” he told her, his voice soft and loving. It wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
She closed the distance between them. It was easy to walk into his arms and pull him close, easier to tangle her fingers in his hair and kiss him.
Rose didn’t care they were in the front parlor with the curtains wide open to any who walked by. All she cared about was James in her arms. Even if he’d been traveling for days. His unshaved cheeks scratched against her sensitive skin, and she shivered at the contact.
“I missed you,” she mumbled against his mouth. But she pulled back. “Even as I was angry with you.”
“I missed you, too,” he said. But he paused and swallowed the rest of his sentence. “Rose,” James whispered, his voice so sincere against hers. “Rose…”
She had a feeling he wanted to say more, wanted to tell her what he’d done to find her and the frantic worry he felt. He didn’t have to; she saw it in his eyes, in the way he held himself. More importantly, in the way he agreed to give her space now he knew she was safe.
The knock on the front door startled Rose.
“What?” James growled. He looked over his shoulder as if he could see whoever stood at her front door. “I’ll chase them off,” James said in that carefree Hamilton way he affected.
“No,” she said and stepped back, her heart wild in her chest. “I shouldn’t have kissed you so easily.”
Rose smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, though nothing untoward happened save that single kiss. She breathed deeply and looked at him with a critical eye rather than the eye of a woman who wanted her husband.
“Make yourself presentable,” she told him, gesturing to his mussed hair. “These are potential servants for the cottage.”
He looked at her, stunned, but she ignored him. Standing before the door, Rose took a moment to compose herself before opening it. Drat. She never did make it to town to buy ink.
* * * *
ROSE NODDED TO the newly hired housemaid. It’d been an easy choice to make, and both she and the cook had been told to report tomorrow. Rose had absolutely no desire to deal with new servants on top of a newly arrived husband.
James made himself scarce during the interviews, hopefully making himself presentable. Now, as she searched the cottage for him, Rose wondered what the rest of the day might bring.
Nerves danced in her belly as she climbed the stairs. Honestly she was a little surprised he hadn’t sat in on the interviews. He spent the previous days searching for her; now that he found her, Rose expected him to at least stay in the same room as her. But he hadn’t, and she hoped that was a sign he meant what he said.
“Have we a cook now?” he asked from where he leaned against the bedroom doorjamb.
“Yes,” Rose agreed with a nod.
Dressed only in his trousers and shirt, he looked so casual and so approachable. Not the wild man she left in London. Not even the desperate man who entered the cottage mere hours ago.
He looked calm. Composed. He looked like the James she’d fallen in love with.
James pushed off the doorway and approached her, his eyes dark and intent. His look sent a flutter of anticipation through her belly, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.
Rose licked her lips; she wanted to taste him, wanted to kiss him until she lost herself. But not yet.
“Let’s walk in the gardens,” she said, her voice low and husky.
Rose cleared her throat and stepped back. Tearing her gaze from his, she turned and went back down the stairs and into the gardens. He closely followed, his footsteps echoing behind her.
The sun had moved high overhead and cast shadows along the stone path. The light danced through the trees and onto the various flowers, swaying with the leaves in the wind. Rose eyed the bench she’d enjoyed earlier, but did not sit on it.
She wanted to stand for this conversation. Wanted to look at James and have him realize she wasn’t the sort of woman to blindly agree to her husband’s wishes.
“When Strathmore married,” James began slowly, “he turned into a housebound bore. And when Edmund found the woman he married, he risked everything to be with her.”
He shook his head and grimaced ruefully. “Apparently I’ve lost all sense and reason.”
Rose nodded. She didn’t smile or try to alleviate his words in any way. “You have.” She stopped and gathered her thoughts. “From what I know of you now, your sense and reason vanished the day you saw me.”
She swallowed and sighed. “I wish it had not. The man who lived with so much fear, who lived haunted by something that is not real, not true, isn’t the same man I’ve come to know in our private moments. Those moments when we don’t think of others but just in the here and now.”
James nodded. He looked like he wanted to speak then stopped and sighed. He ran a hand over his face and nodded again. “I admit, I was lost to a belief. And may still be. Right now, Rose,” he said and stopped. When he spoke again, it was softer, less tightly wound. “I admit, right now I don’t feel the same threat as I did days ago. I don’t want to believe you’re in harm’s way—”
Rose brought a hand to his arm and squeezed, effectively stopping him. “Can you let it go?” she asked. “Can you put it aside now?”
He slowly nodded. And though his eyes begged her forgiveness, her understanding, he didn’t rush to speak, to agree with her, because he knew that was what she wanted to hear.
Instead he said slowly and as honestly as she ever heard him speak, “I can try.”
Shifting her hand from his arm to his hand, she held on tightly. Rose only nodded, too choked with emotion and love, understanding, and hope to form words.
A comfortable silence settled over them and Rose refused to move, refused to break it. She’d stand there all afternoon, despite skipping luncheon, if it meant keeping this warm, easy silence between them.
“What made you choose Kingsnorth?” he finally asked. But his voice was low as if he, too, feared breaking the silence. “If I were to abscond into the night, I’d likely choose Brighton or Bath.”
She resisted a knowing laugh—of course he would. Either of those towns would be so very James.
“I have a friend who lives here,” she said and fully relaxed. “She and her husband are cobblers in town. I already promised to purchase slippers from them.” Rose grinned. “Again.”
Rose tilted her head and gestured to the path. The garden wasn’t large, but she wanted to move, to walk in it with her husband.
“Have you been to Kingsnorth before?”
James shook his head. “I’ve not had the pleasure.”
“Ah, yes.” She laughed. “You usually abscond to the duke’s wine ce
llar.”
James only smiled at that as they slowly continued along the path. “We have weeks here,” he said, and she felt his eyes on her.
Rose looked up and met his gaze and felt that spark of love and arousal, and that giddy feeling she’d felt in the weeks before he locked her in the house.
“Perhaps we can have a bit of a honeymoon here,” he finished.
He stopped and looked around. She didn’t know what he saw; it certainly wasn’t to his standards, but it was lovely and very well maintained, and far from London and memories. Far from the cloistered townhouse they’d shared the first months of their marriage.
Maybe this was the place to truly know each other, to put the past where it firmly belonged.
“I’d like that,” Rose agreed softly. “Time to properly get to know my new husband.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“JAMES!” ROSE CALLED from their bedroom when she heard the front door open. “Have you procured the new trunk?”
She looked at the pile of slippers she bought from Faith and Jeremey. One for every day she and James stayed at this cottage.
“Yes, my love,” he called back. “It’s a good thing you’ve married a wealthy man!”
She laughed and walked to the top of the steps. He stood at the bottom of them, with the trunk at his feet and that large, happy grin on his face.
In the month they stayed in their little cottage, James had displayed none of the paranoia he showed in London. No, he was as calm and loving, and as charming and witty, as always. He was the man she fell in love with. The man she still very deeply loved.
“I think we need to use some of your wealth to construct a new room solely for my slippers,” she told him, still grinning.
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 17