by Lauren Smith
“Do you spend much time at Wesden Heath now? Or do you prefer London?” Milly asked.
He forced his gaze away from a family of ducks parading down the chilly edge of the stream’s bank. “The last few years it’s been London, but”—he paused, meeting her gaze at last—“I would like to call Wesden Heath home again, now that I have the ability to properly run the estate.”
“Because of my dowry,” Milly surmised. She didn’t seem surprised, but he saw that flash of pain again and he cursed himself.
“I will not lie to you, Milly. It was my motivation for finding a wife.” He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. She brushed his hand away and looked away. That hurt him. It shouldn’t but it did.
“I suppose it could be worse. At least you don’t seem prone to vices, besides women.” The last part of this was added with a touch of bitterness. For some reason that angered him.
“I made a promise to your father that I would not take other women to my bed. Only you, Milly. Do not throw my past lovers in my face. They no longer concern what lies between us.” She had to understand that he meant it. He was a man bound by his word.
Her head whipped back around to face him, fire sparking in her eyes.
“What lies between us?” She jabbed a gloved fingertip into his chest. “What exactly lies between us?” Her tone was civil but there was a bite to it he didn’t miss.
Owen scowled down at his wife, torn between the desire to kiss her or turn her over his knee. The woman was exasperating. She drove him in two different directions when she verbally sparred with him, and he couldn’t figure out how to engage her without quarreling or kissing her.
“I have no bloody idea what’s happening between us, but I thought things were improving.” His tone was just as cool but he was barely controlling that desire to grab her and kiss her to remind her just what he felt and how she felt about him.
Her nose wrinkled and she kicked out, her dainty boot striking his knee. Then she hissed in pain and reached down to hold her right foot. The action caused her to wobble and almost fall off the little bridge. He reacted quickly, scooping her up into his arms, catching her behind the back and under her knees.
“What are you doing?” She wriggled in the cradle of his arms and he laughed.
“Stop squirming. I’m going to carry you the rest of the way.”
Her lips parted in shock and she blinked several times. “Put me down. I don’t need to be carried. What if someone sees us? It would be highly improper.”
“I’m not concerned about propriety. I’m more concerned about you.” Owen started walking, easily holding her in his arms. She was a solid weight, but not heavy. He gazed down at her. “Do your feet still hurt?”
Her hesitation told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m trying to help you, sweetheart. Don’t be so bloody stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” she almost shrieked. “Oh! Put me down, you cad!”
“You’re hurt and I’m not letting my wife walk on wounded feet to the front door of my home. You may think me a cad, but by God, I’ll show you I’m not because I can’t stand the idea of you in pain. Now stop thrashing about like an angry polecat,” he growled.
Milly slowly stilled and wound her arms around his neck as she fully gave in to him. She bit her bottom lip, muttering under her breath about him being ridiculous.
He carried her in silence for several minutes before she spoke again, her voice less prickly.
“You called me sweetheart. Were you just saying that, like you would with any woman? Or did you mean…” She trailed off, a blush staining her cheeks. Every time she nibbled her lip, he wanted to lay her down on the nearest flat surface and claim her. With kisses, with his hands, with his body. His cock twitched at the mental image and he blew out a breath, trying to regain control.
“A man ought to have a pet name for his wife,” he said. Especially when he was coming to care for her…he silently added.
“Hmm…” She made a sound that was halfway between a hum and a sigh.
“You object to being called sweetheart?”
“Oh, no,” she said, a look of feigned innocence warning him she had something up her sleeve.
They fell into silence again, but it was less charged with tension than before.
“I’ve never been to the Cotswolds before,” Milly suddenly volunteered, and he glanced down at her in surprise. “It’s very colorful. Pepperwirth Vale is very green, but we don’t have hills and wildflowers like this.”
“And what do you think?” He looked around at the countryside, the sights so familiar to him. To her it must seem foreign and so different from the flat emerald woods of Pepperwirth Vale. He thought of everything he would show her of the Cotswolds soon, the river valleys, the high wind hills, narrow paths, and lush shires. The chain of limestone hills slanting in a thin strip from northeast to southwest. This fairyland with its wildflowers and tiny cottages and Elizabethan era charm ran deep in his blood, as deep as the rivers that ran through the valleys. This place was a part of him, more than he could explain to his new wife. It would have been easy to sell his estate and walk away, but he couldn’t sell a part of his heart. He wanted Milly to like it as much as he did. This was to be her home and he wanted her to be happy.
“It’s lovely. More lovely than I expected.”
Her reply pleased him so much that he was grinning by the time they finally reached the front gardens of Wesden Heath. The sun was hanging just above the horizon, casting a gold glow of evening light over the house and grounds.
“Let me down. I should walk to the door.” She patted his chest gently and he stopped.
“Ready?” he asked. When she nodded, he carefully let her legs drop down and then let her go, but only enough to make sure she could stand.
“Well? What do you think of it?” He waved a hand at the gray stone manor house. Ivy climbed the walls at the base and wisteria laced the bay windows of the rooms facing the front of the house during the spring and summer months. A stone fountain with a rim covered in moss was in the center of the wild, unkempt gardens. A pang of sadness struck him. There was so much that he needed to repair on the property.
“It’s…” Milly tilted her head as she studied the manor house. “It’s beautiful, but it needs a lot of work, doesn’t it?”
Owen cleared his throat. “Er…yes. Quite a bit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. A jittery sense tingled through him as they approached the house. The front door opened and a matronly woman in a black dress rushed out.
“Master Hadley, we expected you so much sooner. Where is the car?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Nelson. The cab lost a tire and we were forced to walk the last seven miles.”
The housekeeper covered her mouth. “Good heavens! Come inside at once. We will get you both settled.”
“That would be good. Mrs. Nelson, this is my wife, Mildred; Mildred, this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Nelson.”
“Welcome to Wesden Heath, Mrs. Hadley,” the housekeeper said.
“Thank you. Did my maid, Constance, arrive yesterday?” Milly inquired as she followed Mrs. Nelson inside.
“Yes, she’s all settled in,” Mrs. Nelson said.
Owen trailed behind them as he entered the front door of the house. Mr. Boyd, the butler, rushed in the hall, his cheeks ruddy, his breath heavy.
“My apologies, Mr. Hadley. We weren’t sure what time to expect you when you did not turn up this afternoon. I will have Cook prepare a meal for you and Mrs. Hadley.”
“Very good, Boyd. Send it to my chamber and we shall dine there tonight.”
“Of course, sir.” Boyd then introduced himself to Milly before he ducked out of sight, heading for the kitchens.
“Milly, let me take you to your room and get you settled. We’ll have a quick dinner upstairs tonight.” Owen crooked his elbow out and she slid her arm through his.
As they walked up the stairs, he tried not to think about the state of
the worn carpets and dusty bannisters. When Milly’s gloved hand brushed against the wood, it came away with a smudge of grime. He had never been ashamed of his home before, but in that moment, he was.
The daughter of a viscount was used to something better than his. What could she think of him and Wesden? The grounds and house were in need of so much care. If she didn’t love Wesden, then she wouldn’t be happy, and an unhappy Milly meant the shrewish temperament might return. It was not a prospect he looked forward to.
He paused in front of a bedroom, the one he’d directed to be prepared for her a week after their marriage plans had been announced in the banns. It was a few rooms away from his own chamber, which at the time had seemed not nearly far enough away. At first he’d been relieved that custom dictated a wife would have her own bedchamber. But now…now he wished they had connecting rooms, ones that made them feel more like man and wife.
People who shared their lives together usually came to care about each other. His parents had kept separate rooms and they had been able to avoid each other. He’d assumed he might face that possibility with Milly, but…not anymore. He wanted an intimate marriage, not just physically but emotionally. He’d never been one to live a lonely life and he wasn’t about to start now. Owen had a sneaking suspicion that Milly might be amenable to it, too, if he could keep stealing kisses and find a way to melt the icy walls around her warm heart.
He wanted her to be close. It was a damnably foolish notion to crave her nearness, to ache to take her to bed, but he did. Even when she pushed him away, she fascinated him. Milly was a tightly wound bundle of contradictions that made little sense to him, and he had the strongest desire to spend the rest of his life untangling the mystery of who she really was. Temptress or shrew?
“These are your rooms. Your lady’s maid should have her own chambers in the servants’ hall. If either of you have need of anything, there are bells, of course. Mr. Boyd and Mrs. Nelson can see to anything you require.” He opened the door to Milly’s room. Constance was already inside, waiting patiently by the bed. Milly’s shoulders relaxed visibly and she smiled for the first time in hours.
“Constance.” The one word, so full of relief on her lips, made his chest ache. He rubbed at the spot with one hand but dropped it when she turned back around to face him.
“Thank you, Owen. I should like to have some time alone after our journey.” She was glancing about the room, avoiding his gaze.
“Are you sure? I’d be happy to help you settle in,” he offered. The thought of her pulling away from him after everything they had shared made him feel hollow. He didn’t want to live with a stranger for the rest of his life. He’d rather have her spitting mad and railing at him for something thoughtless he’d said about her books than have her ignoring him.
“No, I’ll be quite fine on my own. What time is dinner? Will there be a formal table prepared? Or should I expect something more casual?” Her tone was cool not cold, but it made him want to growl. This wasn’t the Milly he’d wanted to see. This was the Milly from before they’d married, the cool socialite who walled her heart in ice. There was no hint of the intimacy that had been growing between them. They’d made progress this afternoon, and now she was attempting to move backward. He’d be damned if he let her shut him out again. He clenched his fists at his side. He would have to overwhelm her with passion, it was the only time he could break down that frosty wall she’d erected to keep him out. When Milly was kissing him, she wasn’t cold or closed up; she was a different woman, a passionate, wild creature that smiled and laughed. A woman he could come to love with a little time. And that was what he wished for, to have a wife he could love, who might love him back.
“I’m not sure. I’ll come to collect you. Since we will dine in my chamber, no need to dress up. Wear whatever you wish.”
She nodded politely and tapped one booted foot, apparently more than ready for him to leave.
“Well…I’ll see you in a short while,” he said, and she promptly shut the door in his face.
“I’ll see you in a short while.” He sounded like an idiot. With a low growl, he stalked off toward his own chambers and slammed the door.
Chapter 8
Milly sagged onto the four-poster bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Her feet stung and she was exhausted enough that she could have fallen asleep right there, if her stomach would stop grumbling.
“Milady?” Constance put a gentle hand on her forehead, as though testing her for a fever. “Are you well?”
With a heavy sigh, she responded, “Yes, well enough. Our cab ruptured a tire and we had to walk seven miles to get here.”
Her maid winced and immediately reached for Milly’s booted feet. “Shall I remove these for you?”
“Please,” she almost begged, but it was so out of character for her that she didn’t miss Constance’s little smile. When the boots come off and she peeled her stockings down, she winced and hissed as she discovered blisters on her heels. A few places were rubbed bloody and raw.
“Oh!” Constance gasped.
Milly closed her eyes for a second, breathing. The cold air stung the wounded areas, but after a few seconds the burning eased.
“I’ll fetch a healing balm. Whatever Mr. Evans can find.” Constance left her alone and she curled up in a ball on the bed, pulling the counterpane over herself to stay warm. A small fire was in the hearth, but it didn’t warm her up as much as she hoped it would.
I’ll just rest until she gets back. Shouldn’t be too long.
When she opened her eyes again, she found Constance peering down at her, worry knitting her brows together.
“Mr. Hadley is waiting for you to join him in his chambers for dinner.” Constance held out slippers for her to put on and a thick woolen shawl to wrap around her shoulders.
Milly flinched as she eased her feet into the slippers but was relieved that she wouldn’t have to put the boots on again. Then she tightened the shawl and squared her shoulders.
“Constance, what’s the staffing situation like here? There should be more fires, less dust…less…” She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger before blowing out a breath.
Her lady’s maid met her gaze steadily. “We need to hire at least three footmen, four upstairs maids, and a scullery maid. As of right now, Wesden Heath has a butler, housekeeper, cook, one maid, and one footman.” Constance ticked off the servants on her fingers as she paced back and forth in front of Milly. Milly bit her lip to hide her smile. Constance, even though she was a lady’s maid, was more suited to the role of army general, or perhaps housekeeper. If Mrs. Nelson retired, Milly would have to see that Constance was offered the position.
“It is a good thing my father left me in some control of the finances. We can pursue the issue of the staff tomorrow morning.”
“Very good, milady,” Constance said.
“No more of that milady, Constance. I’m merely a gentleman’s wife now,” she reminded her maid gently.
Constance looked heavenward as though beseeching the angels to intercede before she turned to tidy the toilette items on the little vanity table, muttering, “You cannot take the blue blood out of a lady.”
Milly checked her appearance in the tall looking glass and swept her hands over the messy style of her once-tidy coiffure. Sleeping without taking her hair down had been a little foolish, but she had been so exhausted she had no thought of it.
“Heavens, I look a fright,” she said, and pinched her pale cheeks before heading to the door. She looked dreadful in her rumpled traveling clothes, slippers, and shawls, but after everything she had been through today, she was simply unable to care. Most gentlemen who married a lady of her standing would expect perfection in a wife every minute. Milly hoped Owen did not, because she was too exhausted to do anything about her appearance tonight, no matter how much she might wish to look her best out of habit.
She retraced her steps back down the hall to find the only other room on the upstairs floor tha
t looked occupied. A sheen of gold light illuminated the bottom of the door, showing someone had a fire and lamps lit. She rapped her knuckles lightly and the door swung open a moment later.
“There you are. I was about to send out a search party.” Owen stepped back, allowing her to brush past him to enter the room. He wore only trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His room was warm and welcoming with a healthy fire, unlike her chambers, which had been so cold her fingers were white and as brittle as icicles. She shivered and grasped the loose ends of her shawl as she headed straight for a chair by the fire.
“Cook made some spiced beef and soda bread for us,” Owen said as he joined her. “I know you are used to more impressive fare, but I assure you I will send Mrs. Nelson to town tomorrow with a list of everything you desire.”
Milly didn’t look his way, even though she wanted to. If she looked at him and saw that handsome face turned to hers, she would cave in to her desire to get closer to him. The almost boyish hopefulness to his tone made her feel melancholy and a little fluttery inside. The strange mix of emotions was puzzling, but she reminded herself to keep her distance. She couldn’t afford to fall in love with this man, no matter how sweet, charming, and completely seductive he could be. If she didn’t protect her heart, he might leave her to slowly drown in a quiet life of desperation for loving a man who would never treat her as an equal. She’d seen it so many times before with other women her age who’d been born with a desire to be something more than simply a wife and mother.
“Thank you,” she replied.
He walked away but returned a moment later with a cart and a tarnished silver tray with food. The aroma of the spiced beef made her stomach grumble. She could already taste the juniper and peppercorn spices that must have been soaked in the beef for a week. It was a simple meal, but a satisfying one. She selected a plate and cut a piece of brown soda bread and selected several slices of beef. Owen did the same and reached for a tall clear bottle filled with a pale cherry-red liquid.