Brenna shifted, and her knee came dangerously close to his thigh. “There is more to you than what you let me see.”
He ate and said nothing. His silence did not discourage her attempt at conversation. She’d been quiet all morning. Whether it was the sunny meadow, the food, or her renewed energy from resting in the shade, something shook loose her tongue, and her target was him.
“I’d enjoy seeing you dressed in something other than faded breeches and a dusty coat,” she continued. Her gaze drifted over him. “You should find another tailor.”
He frowned. Her look was pure innocence. “You clearly need a wife.”
Manners kept him from looking skyward. “I promised to consider marrying you if you helped me find Anne. ‘Consider’ being the word of choice. Thus far, you have done nothing but follow along and test my patience.”
The chance he’d marry her was minute. He’d vowed to never remarry, and he intended to keep to that promise.
Of course, a marriage of convenience would certainly chase off the several marriage-minded women of his acquaintance who had no qualms about openly seeking him out as a potential mate.
That alone should make him consider her proposal.
“And yet, you keep me with you. Why, I ask?” She took the wineskin and sipped. “Perhaps you are not finished kissing me?”
Richard scowled. Why couldn’t Walter and Kathleen have whelped a less beguiling and aggravating child? By the time they reached Gretna Green, he’d likely be more inclined to strangle the chit than to wed her.
“Did you miss the lessons on proper behavior?” he said. His guilt weighed heavily on him. Her reminder did not ease his regret. “You must forget the kiss. It was a mistake, yours if I recall, and will not happen again. You are Walter’s daughter. I will not ruin my friendship with him by kissing you again.”
Brenna stared. “I talk of kissing, and you talk of my father. Interesting.” Her eyes seemed to slip into his soul. “You have had too much darkness in your life. Once your sister has been returned home safely, and we are wed, I will make it my duty to see that you find happiness.”
He crossed his arms. She was like a tiny dog attached to his boot by its sharp little teeth. No matter how much he tried to shake her off, she would not be dislodged. She planned to marry him, and that was that. “I have not agreed to wed you.”
“You will.” She smiled. “I always get what I want.”
There were many ways to respond to her simple comment. Even if she’d not carried the beauty of her mother, he’d still know her as a Harrington. Every one of them was born with a supreme confidence others lacked.
It was time to be honest with her before she turned her thoughts of marriage into a fanciful notion of happily ever after as his viscountess. There was no such thing as true happiness. Life was brutal, and marriage for love was a false illusion.
“I gave away my heart once, Brenna, and will not do so again,” he said, with a harsh sigh. “If I do marry you, it would be a matter of convenience, nothing more. Do not ever expect me to love you.”
The bluntness of his comment took her aback like a slap. There was no questioning his feelings. When this adventure ended, she’d have a husband to satisfy her father, but Ashwood would not love her. Ever.
She’d not truly considered her life much further than the wedding. She assumed they would eventually grow fond of each other, and that would lead to love. Now even that had vanished under the brutality of his truth.
All her dreams of marrying for love would never come to fruition. Would a loveless marriage be the price worth paying to keep from having to marry Chester Abbot?
She tamped down her misgivings. She had no other options. She’d have to learn to live with her disappointment. “I do not ask for love,” she said, hoping for an emotionless tone. “I have given up on that emotion. All I ask for now is a way out of my dilemma and for children someday. Certainly one does not need affection from one’s husband to accomplish those goals.”
Even as she said the words, defeat filled her. For years she’d avoided the trap of a loveless marriage. Now she’d agreed to one without argument.
“Then we have an understanding,” he said, handing her the flask. “Let us eat. We have miles yet to travel today.”
The bland meal stuck in her throat, to be followed by several more hours of searching, until her hands cramped on the reins and her back cried out for a soft bed. While Richard questioned the innkeepers, Brenna questioned the maids. At the Black Crow’s Inn, she learned about a woman who fit Anne’s description.
“I am not convinced it was Anne,” he said, after talking to the maid himself. “Lockley has taken an interest in her that defies his unhealthy proclivities. I suspect it has to do with her sizable dowry. He will be with her to keep her from changing her mind and fleeing him.”
Brenna led him out of the inn. “Could you be wrong about their elopement? Nothing we’ve learned thus far has led us to conclude they are heading for Gretna Green.”
Richard helped her mount before answering. “I’ve searched hill and dale around our village. I’ve sent men in all directions. There are no clues to lead me to conclude they’ve gone anywhere else but north. Lockley must know I’ll kill him if he ruins her. He will marry her to save his neck.”
“Then we shall continue toward Scotland.” Brenna wouldn’t argue. She knew nothing about Anne. If Ashwood was certain Anne had run off with Lockley, then she would keep her doubts to herself.
The day aged as the sun began to set. They took a room just before dark. The innkeeper assured them he’d not seen Anne. Brenna felt her companion’s frustration.
“We are two days from Scotland and still nothing. And my steward is still missing.” He tossed his pack on the bed. The maids set out food, filled the bathtub with hot water, and withdrew. “We are on a fool’s errand.”
Brenna leaned to sniff the lamb stew. Her mouth watered. “You cannot give up. Even if we are too late to save her from the marriage, you will have tried.”
Eager to eat, she laid out the meal on the scarred table. In addition to the stew, there was wine and bread.
He grumbled under his breath as Brenna ate with vigor. The meal infused her tired limbs with warmth. “I shall take the first bath,” she said, not waiting for his reply. Her achy bones longed to soak in the hot water.
She stepped behind the screen and slipped out of her clothing. She wanted to kick her offensive garments into the fire, but thought that traveling the roads wearing nothing but her cloak might be pushing the boundaries of propriety. Even for her.
Bathing with Richard—as she’d begun to think of him—just outside the screen was scandalous enough. As she lowered herself into the tub, she did not care. A low groan escaped her as the water closed in around her.
Silence fell as she scrubbed with a chunk of crude soap. Though coarse enough to scrub pots clean, the soap left her skin tingling and her hair free of debris.
She knew by the clank of spoon against bowl that Richard was eating. She wondered if he was thinking of her naked in the tub as he spooned stew into his mouth.
If so, she hoped he was tortured by the image. It was the least he deserved for all the aggravation he’d caused her with his grumbles and scowls.
Once clean, she leaned back and closed her eyes, a wistful smile on her lips. The bath was heavenly.
A chair scraped on the wood floor. His gruff voice carried past the screen. “Do you plan to stay in the tub all evening? If not, you have two minutes to exit the tub or we will soon be sharing the space.”
Brenna sat upright. Share the bath?
Scandalized by the thought of their bodies intertwined in the tub, her face warmed, and her body tingled. She stood quickly, letting the night air cool her tempestuous thoughts.
“I am getting out.” She stood and scrubbed dry with a towel, untangled her hair with a brush left with the soap, and stepped into her chemise. Without a robe to cover the thin fabric, she kept the damp to
wel clutched against her as she walked from behind the screen. “I did not expect to be traveling or I would have packed a valise. I have nothing else to wear.”
Richard nodded, his eyes on her. His mouth tightened. “Tomorrow we will get you a gown.”
“Thank you.” She walked over to stand by the bed. Contemplating the night ahead, and her troubling attraction for the man, she took a quilt from the chair, rolled it up as best she could with one free hand, and divided the bed with the makeshift barrier. Then without asking which side of the bed he preferred, she dropped the towel, scooted beneath the sheet and quilt, and pulled them up to her chin. “Good night.”
“Good night, Brenna.”
Richard watched her adjust the covers to her chin, her back to him, the shape of her curves not as well hidden beneath the faded quilt as he would have liked. She was like a siren leading him to his death, and he struggled to fight her silent call.
Even now, the image of her body barely hidden under her thin chemise caused him to harden beneath his breeches.
With a low curse, he tore his eyes away and walked behind the narrow screen. Doffing his clothes, he stepped into the rapidly cooling water. Knowing she’d been naked in that same bath moments previous hardened his cock a second time, and he silently cursed his lack of control.
He struggled to regain his wits, turning his thoughts to her father, to Anne, to parliament, anything that would keep him from thinking of Brenna lying warm and soft in the bed.
The effort gained him little, but he did manage to finish the bath without spilling his seed in the water.
After, he dried off and reclaimed his breeches. Brenna was breathing softly when he returned to her, her exhaustion from the day’s ride having taken a toll. He watched her sleep, his arousal returning with a vengeance. Emitting a low frustrated growl, he snatched the rolled quilt from the bed, dragged the room’s only chair to the window, put his bare feet on the sill, and jerked the blanket over him.
A night of suffering in the uncomfortable chair would be his penance for his heated thoughts. A mistake would be to share the bed with her. He knew better than to tempt fate.
With moonlight filtering over his face, he slowly drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Seven
Richard waited downstairs while Brenna reluctantly climbed from the bed to dress. The crumpled shirt and makeshift trousers had smelled so much like horse and grime the previous night that they offended her senses. She blanched at the thought of putting them back on and wished she’d thought ahead to pack a gown. Unfortunately, without that option, she had no choice but to seek out the offending items.
With her resolve weakening, she forced herself toward the corner where she’d tossed the garments, but they were not to be found. Then she noticed a dress hung over the chair behind the screen. Upon further investigation, she found it to be nearly new, blue cotton, with the skirt divided for riding astride.
Beside it was her slightly frayed cloak, shaken free of road dust and pressed.
She smiled, delighted.
Richard. He’d obviously ordered the dress sometime after she’d fallen asleep so that they could continue north without the delay of searching for a shop, though she suspected a delay was not his only reason for the purchase. His senses were likely offended by her old clothing, too.
She didn’t care where the dress came from, only that it was clean and the skirt altered for riding.
After hurrying through her toilet, she braided her hair into one plait down her back and stepped into the gown. Though slightly bigger than she, the item fit nicely.
When she joined him a few minutes later, she found him halfway through a breakfast of sausages, ham, and coddled eggs. A second plate awaited her arrival.
The great room was half full of travelers and surly characters, but she gave them little notice. Richard had chosen a table in a corner, his face still unshaven and looking far more handsome than he should. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Thank you for the dress,” she said, taking a seat across from him and placing the cloak on an open chair. She picked up her fork and gave him a luminous smile. “I hoped you burned my old garments.”
He grunted in reply. Brenna was certain she’d seen a brief flicker of appreciation over her fresh appearance, despite his surly mood.
“We should reach Gretna Green by tonight, then?” She took a bite of eggs, and he nodded. “I hope we find Anne. I would hate to think I’d spent these last few days enduring your foul moods for naught.”
He paused and lifted his eyes to her. She stared innocently. He frowned and continued eating.
“And as I have been an excellent companion and investigator, I shall expect payment.” She indicated the dress. “This dress will make an excellent wedding gown.”
His fork clattered on his plate.
“Once we are wed,” she continued unabated, “my father will have to accept you as my husband. Any anger he has over my running off to Scotland with you will dissipate under his happiness to see me successfully matched.”
He grunted and spoke through a bite of ham. “Your father will despise me.”
Brenna chewed down a nibble of sausage. “Once our first child is born, he will forgive you.” She knew she shouldn’t tease him but enjoyed it nonetheless. “By child five, you will have fully returned to his good graces.”
Richard looked as though he wanted to paddle her. She reached for her teacup. “Oh, do not scowl so. I am teasing you. Truthfully, I need a husband, and you need a wife. If the worst happens and Anne married that bounder, you won’t want his child inheriting Beckwith Hall, now would you?” She did not wait for an answer, as his deepening scowl was enough. “I promise not to make unreasonable demands on you. Your life will continue much as it was. You will live in the country, and I will reside in London. We will only need to suffer each other long enough to beget an heir and perhaps share an occasional Christmas goose to consider the union a rousing success.”
Richard’s hands twitched. Thankfully for her, they were in a common room with witnesses, making throttling her impossible. His orderly life had been tossed awry these last few days, and Brenna was at the top of the disorder.
The chit had planned out his life without considering his wishes. He did not want to marry her. Not now, not ever. The difficult part would be returning her to her father without Walter putting a bullet in him.
“The idea of spending the rest of my life with you strikes terror in my soul,” he grumbled. “You are far too flighty to make a good wife, and the idea of you mothering my offspring makes me shudder.”
Her mouth dropped open. She sputtered for a moment before collecting herself and leaning forward with a damning glare. “I am not flighty. Though I may be spirited, and sometimes act rashly, I am not without some intelligence,” she snapped. “And I will make a kind and loving mother.”
He pondered her for a moment. In spite of her impulsiveness, she was indeed well schooled. It was curbing the other that left him concerned.
“I do not wish for children,” he said finally. “I have seen what happens when childbirth goes wrong. I will not have another wife die at my hands.”
Brenna’s face paled. He did not take any satisfaction from shocking her with his bluntness.
“Not all mothers die in childbirth,” she said softly.
“Yet some do,” he said. “I’ll not take that risk again.”
He stood abruptly, and the chair wobbled. This was a conversation he’d not have with her. His private pain was not her business. If he ever did marry her, she’d have to learn to keep her nose out of his history.
Paying the innkeeper for breakfast, he walked out of the inn, Brenna hurrying along behind him.
Expecting an argument, Brenna surprised him by saying nothing. Clearly, his sentiment about children had finally left her speechless. But he would not change his mind. The loss of his wife and son had sent him into a darkness that had fully consumed him. If it hadn’t been for Walter
Harrington, he would be dead.
Minutes ticked by as Brenna followed Richard, the horses plodding along the dusty path back to Great North Road. She hated the idea of another long day in the saddle but knew complaining would earn her a space in a mail coach heading south. That could not happen before a legal and binding marriage between them.
The abject sadness that edged his words when he spoke of his lost family had nearly knocked her flat. His determination to never risk another wife and child to death had almost brought her to tears.
It was the idea of marrying him and never having his love, or his children, that sent a full complement of emotions whirling through her mind and heart.
Could she make such a bargain to save herself from an unwanted marriage? Was she truly that desperate? These were certainly points to ponder.
The road seemed an endless line of pits and ruts as Brontes followed Richard’s gelding with minimal guidance. Somewhere up ahead was Scotland. By the time they reached the border, her decision had to be made. How much could she sacrifice?
The weight of it filled her heart like a stone.
The morning aged, mist hanging over the low areas, refusing to give way to the sun. The road was eerily quiet but for an occasional coach rumbling past.
Richard rode in silence. She saw stiffness in his upright posture. She wanted to offer comfort but did not know how. Truthfully, she knew no matter what she said or how she said it, the topic of his lost family would make him angry. She was too weary to risk another argument. She wanted peace between them.
It was a full hour since they’d left the inn that she felt a prickle of unease on the back of her neck. Brontes spun her head around to peer back down the road. Brenna turned in the saddle to see what had interested the mare.
She saw a pair of riders coming up behind them, riding at a gentle lope, as if in no hurry. There was nothing outward about the men to cause alarm.
Perhaps they sought a runaway family member of their own. She’d heard that many fathers and brothers made this same desperate journey to rescue their daughters and sisters from their impulsive acts.
A Convenient Bride Page 6