Then Harry took her hand. Harry, her Harry, solemn and impossibly handsome, his blue eyes bright with love and desire.
He leaned down to her, whispering so that no one else heard.
“My own dear Gus,” he said. “I thought I couldn’t possibly love you more, but I do.”
She smiled, the joy swelling up within her to take away every doubt and fear. His hand was her lifeline, the same as hers had been to him, and she clung to it, never wanting to lose him or his support.
The rest passed with a speed that astonished her. The ceremony, the new gold ring on her finger, the toasts and the bride cake, the tears and hugs as they said good-bye, the servants standing in a line on the drive to wish her farewell as she and Harry were driven away in his carriage, and her last glimpse of the only home she’d ever known.
She sat back against the pale leather seats and looked down at her hand, still holding tightly to his. She was Harry’s wife now, and he was her husband, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live. They were married. There was no turning back now, and with a tremulous smile she raised her lips to kiss him.
CHAPTER
12
“Here we are,” Harry said as the carriage slowed before the inn. “About damned time, too.”
Under ordinary circumstances, he would have driven straight through to London, stopping only for fresh horses and meals. But because this was his wedding night and, for Gus’s sake, he’d decided not to spend it in a lurching coach. He’d made arrangements for them to stop for the night in Mildenhall, about thirty miles and six hours into their journey.
The Ox & Plough was a tolerable inn on the market cross, and while it was hardly the most romantic of places, the innkeeper was a forthright fellow—and, more important, his wife was a stern taskmistress. The beds would be fresh and the food acceptable, which was the best one could ever hope for on a public road. Besides, Harry expected that he and Gus would be so enamored with each other that the amenities wouldn’t really matter.
But he hadn’t counted on the toll that thirty miles and six hours of riding in a coach—even his well-appointed coach—would take on his leg. As the afternoon had worn on, the jostling of the road had made the barely healed bones ache as badly as they had weeks ago, with each bump and jar reminding him yet again of how disappointing a husband he must be. He had tried to continue as usual with Gus, but he’d been relieved when she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder and he’d no longer had to pretend.
“Where are we?” she asked, groggy, as she slowly sat upright.
“Mildenhall,” he said. “We’re stopping here for the night.”
“Good,” she said, reaching for her hat from the seat beside her. “I never thought I’d be so weary from simply sitting in a carriage all afternoon. How is your leg?”
“Perfectly fine,” he lied, not wanting her sympathy, not today. “I’m looking forward to supper. Among other things.”
She smiled and blushed. “It’s our first time among strangers as husband and wife. Do you think anyone will know we’re just married?”
“They will,” he said as the carriage stopped in the inn’s yard, “because they’re expecting us. You’re a Fitzroy now, Gus, and you’ll soon learn we don’t do anything halfway.”
Already the inn’s stablemen were hurrying toward the carriage, and Greene, the innkeeper, was striding out to greet them, too, the green apron that marked both his trade and his name flapping in the breeze, while other guests appeared at windows and doors to gape at the titled newcomers. There was nothing like a carriage with gilding on the wheels and a noble crest painted on the door to draw attention in a stable yard, and he wanted Gus to enjoy the attention that her new status brought her.
But right now she did not appear to be enjoying it at all. “Goodness,” she murmured, her eyes round and serious. “All those people wish to see us?”
“It’s you they wish to see,” he said proudly. “They know you’re the new Countess of Hargreave. Everyone loves a new bride.”
“I hope they will not be disappointed when they see me,” she said, her voice small as she sat back against the squabs and away from the window.
“Of course they won’t be disappointed,” he said, surprised she’d say such a thing. To his eyes, she had never looked more lovely or stylish than she had today, first in that golden gown for the wedding, and now in her traveling habit, a brilliant plum merino that made her gray eyes sparkle like silver, and that fitted her curving figure in such a way as to make her waist very small and her breasts temptingly full. He completely approved.
Her hat reminded him of some Frenchified confection, covered with white silk bows like whipped cream, and large amethyst and diamond earrings—another of his wedding gifts to her—hung from her ears. Earlier her hair had been crimped into tight, stylish curls, doubtless by her well-meaning lady’s maid, but while they traveled the elaborate curls had fallen, and her hair was simply straight and a little mussed, the way he liked it best.
All in all, he thought she looked charming and utterly delectable, and as happy as he was to show her off, he couldn’t wait until they were at last alone, and he’d have her to himself.
“You must believe me, Gus,” he said firmly as the footmen began unlatching the carriage door and folding down the steps. “I will be the envy of every man here.”
She smiled, a tentative smile, but a smile nonetheless, and leaned forward to kiss him quickly. “I love you, Harry.”
He kissed her back and winked. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”
The door opened, footmen in livery standing on either side, and a crowd of expectant faces beyond them. Damnation, he’d been so busy reassuring Gus that he’d forgotten the trial he’d now face himself. He must step down from the carriage ahead of her, turn, and hand her down, too. It was one of the simplest routines of good manners, and one he’d done for so long with the ladies in his family that he gave it no thought.
But it was simple when he’d had two good legs, not one, nor relying on a crutch at that. Of course his footmen would be there to keep him from falling flat on his face, but that was humiliating in itself, having to be helped down like a doddering graybeard.
And blast it, Gus knew it, too, better than anyone else.
“Would you like me to go first?” she asked gently. “Then you can lean on me to settle your balance.”
“Thank you, no,” he said curtly, his pride winning over his gratitude. “I shall manage.”
He took a deep breath and stood, bracing himself on the frame of the carriage’s door. The folding steps were small and narrow, never the most stable of arrangements. He reached behind him for the crutch from the seat, and she handed it to him, making sure he’d a firm grip before she let go. He felt as if every person in the yard was holding their breath, waiting for him to fail, and fall.
Every person but his wife.
“Go on, Harry,” she said quietly behind him. “You’re the bravest man I know, and you’ll be fine.”
He could do this. Blast it, he could. He took another deep breath, placed the end of the crutch on the first step, and hopped down one step, then two, and then he was safely on the ground. Then he turned, and as gallantly as he could, held his hand out to Gus.
She was frozen on the step, her expression fixed and tight with trepidation beneath the frothy hat. He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Courage, Countess,” he said softly. “I didn’t fall in love with a coward.”
She glanced down at him sharply, and for one dreadful moment he wondered if he’d teased too hard. Then she grinned at him, her entire face lighting up like sunshine. She smiled, and everyone in the crowd smiled as well. She stepped lightly down the steps then, deftly managing her skirts and hoops as if she’d been doing this all her life.
A small girl in a snow-white cap and apron was pushed to the front of the crowd. In one hand was a large bouquet of flowers tied with
white ribbons, a bouquet that wobbled dangerously toward the ground as the girl made a quick, jerky curtsey in front of Gus.
“My lady,” she said, thrusting the bouquet upward. “For you, my lady, with our regards and best wishes upon your marriage.”
Harry smiled, delighted by the tribute for Gus’s sake. He expected her to take the bouquet and move on, as most ladies would. But instead she crouched down to the child’s level, heedless of her silk petticoats in the yard’s dust.
“Thank you so much, lamb,” she said, her smile warm as she accepted the bouquet. “What is your name?”
The little girl glanced back over her shoulder, clearly seeking the approval of some adult in the crowd before she replied.
“Ann Greene, my lady,” she said finally.
“I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Ann Greene, and very grateful for the flowers,” Gus said. She drew the largest flower from the bouquet, and handed it to Ann. “Will you please keep this, and think of me on your own wedding day?”
Ann nodded and took the flower gingerly by the stem. Then she curtseyed again and fled back into the crowd. As Gus rose, those nearest chuckled with pleasure and began to applaud the new countess, and soon a swell of cheers was added. Gus smiled and blushed, and took Harry’s arm once again.
“Well done, sweetheart, well done,” he said to her, proud of her in a thousand ways. “You couldn’t have been better. I believe that was the innkeeper’s daughter, too.”
“I hope I didn’t frighten the child,” she said with concern. “If a countess had spoken to me when I was that age, I would have perished from fright.”
“Then I’m grateful no countesses ventured into your young life, or you wouldn’t be here now,” he said, steering her toward the inn’s door. After nearly a week of keeping apart from her, he relished being able to touch her again, even in little ways, a hand curling around her waist, a palm gently placed on the small of her back. “Come, I’m famished. I recall they have a respectable bill of fare here.”
“Good day, my lord, and welcome,” said the innkeeper, hurrying to bow before them as soon as they stepped inside. “May I offer my congratulations to you both on this happy day?”
“Thank you,” Gus said. “Your daughter is charming.”
“I thank you for saying so, my lady, I thank you very much,” Greene said, bowing again. “She’s a good girl, she is. Now, my lord, regarding your rooms. Everything is in readiness, exactly as you wished. Our very best bedchamber, on the west corner and overlooking the churchyard for a most peaceable night, connecting to a small parlor useful for receiving visitors.”
“Excellent,” Harry said, eager to be done with this talking and alone with Gus. “We’ll take possession of them directly. Our servants should be arriving shortly with the baggage, and I’ll ask you to show them upstairs as well.”
“Very well, my lord,” Greene said, clearly hesitating. “Pray forgive me, my lord, but I wish to accommodate you and her ladyship in a way that is most agreeable to you. When you requested the corner bedchamber, I thought only of obliging your wishes. However, my lord, now that I see the extent of your, ah, your infirmity, why, I—”
“My ‘infirmity’?” Harry repeated, instantly on edge.
“Yes, my lord,” Greene said, pointedly staring down at Harry’s leg. “I only wish to make things easy for you, my lord, and when I see how you labor, why, I cannot recommend the original rooms on account of the stairs and the distance—”
“I do not labor,” Harry said. He could feel his face flush and his voice grow louder and more angry, things he did not wish to do but seemed incapable of stopping. Yet he felt convinced that everyone within the tavern, porters and serving maids and guests as well, was staring at his leg and the crutch, just as they’d done when he’d been outside, and it unsettled him. “Your presumptions regarding my injury are not welcome, Mr. Greene.”
Greene ducked his head, still determined to please. “Forgive me, my lord, I meant no insult,” he said. “But if you wish to keep the corner rooms, I can arrange for a chair to be carried up the stairs, and—”
“No chair,” Harry said, horrified by the image of being lugged up the stairs like an old trunk. “Damnation, man, I am not some infernal cripple!”
Gus lay her little gloved hand on his arm. “Harry, please,” she said. “He means no insult to you. He’s only trying—”
“I know what he’s trying to do,” he said, “and he needn’t do it any longer. He should show us to our rooms directly, or we’ll find lodgings elsewhere.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but that will not be necessary,” Greene said, bowing his head with defeat. “This way, if you please, my lady, my lord.”
He led them down a short hall to the staircase—a long, steep staircase, far steeper than any he’d climbed at Wetherby. Harry stared up it, realizing the enormity of the task he’d just set for himself.
“It’s pure stubbornness, you know,” Gus said mildly beside him. “You can change your mind, and no one will fault you for it.”
“It’s confidence, Gus, not stubbornness.” He was, of course, being stubborn, but he would not admit it, and now he’d no choice but to climb the damned stairs.
“Very well,” she said. “May I walk with you, or will you insist on making your martyr’s climb alone?”
“Please yourself,” he said, ignoring the part about being a martyr. “I’ll not stop you.”
Greene had paused on the steps, patiently waiting for them to follow. Harry didn’t want anyone waiting for him, ever, and resolutely he began up the stairs. It was hard work, even harder than he’d anticipated, and he hated how he had to lurch and hop up each step like a lopsided crab, hanging to the rail. Even worse was how others in a greater hurry, up and down, were forced to squeeze past him with muttered apologies.
Only Gus followed. He didn’t look back to see her, but he knew she was there, silently measuring her steps to match his. He hated that, too: not that she followed him, but that he was limiting her, holding her back, when the two of them should be laughing and racing up these stairs together to their bedchamber. His frustration and resentment built with each step, and by the time he finally reached the top landing, he was breathing as hard as if he’d truly climbed a mountain. Beneath his coat, his shirt was plastered with sweat to his back.
“This way, my lord,” said Greene, waiting at the landing, his face so full of pity that Harry longed to strike him with his crutch. “Only a bit farther, my lord.”
Harry bit back an oath and followed, doing better now that they were done with the stairs. At least Greene hadn’t been exaggerating to make him feel better: their rooms were only a short distance more, and the innkeeper unlocked the door and opened it with a flourish.
“Our best rooms, my lady, my lord,” he said proudly. “I hope they suit?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Greene,” Gus said, beaming. “This is splendid. And the flowers! Surely those are your wife’s doing. Please thank her for me.”
The room was exactly as Harry had hoped, airy and pleasant for an inn, and most of all tidy and clean, with bare floors well swept and a sizable bed filling much of the room. In honor of their newlywed status, there was a large pitcher filled with flowers in the center of the table. It was awkwardly arranged, but since Gus was pleased, he was grudgingly pleased as well. At least the flowers made the place smell sweet.
“Thank you, my lady,” Greene said with obvious relief. “Is there anything else?”
“We would like supper sent up directly,” Gus said briskly, tugging off her gloves and unpinning her hat. “His lordship would like two beef chops, browned but not overcooked, with a pot of mustard besides. As for the rest, I shall trust you to bring the very best of your day’s fare with the very best of your wines, and as swiftly as possible. My husband is quite hungry after our journey.”
The innkeeper bowed and hurried off, and as soon as the door was closed behind him Gus came and slipped her arms inside
Harry’s coat and around his waist.
“Here we are, husband,” she said playfully. “Alone together in the best room of an inn. It makes me feel vastly wicked.”
“That was what it was supposed to do,” Harry said, then sighed and eased free of her, dropping heavily into a nearby armchair.
Gus frowned. “Did I overstep by ordering your supper? Was there something you’d rather have had than the chops?”
“Why should I object?” he said. “You know my tastes as well as anyone by now.”
He took off his hat and tossed it onto the bed, wiping his sleeve across his brow. The trial on the stairs had left him weary and disgusted with himself, and in no humor to play a proper bridegroom. He wished to wash and change his clothes, requiring his servant, who was inconveniently not there.
“What the devil is keeping Tewkes?” he asked, struggling to pull his arms from the sleeves of his coat while sitting. “They should have been close behind us.”
“Perhaps he and Mary ran off together to Calais,” she said, helping him pull his coat off the rest of the way and folding it neatly, as neatly as Tewkes himself would have done. “I’m sure they’ll be here as soon as they can. Your carriage was much the faster without the baggage.”
“Our carriage,” he corrected, knowing he should thank her but feeling so out of sorts that he didn’t, which made him feel worse. “It’s yours, too, considering you’re now my wife.”
“However could I forget?” she asked, leaning over to kiss him, lightly brushing her lips over his.
He hadn’t believed he was in the mood for kissing, but she was both irresistible and persistent. He also hadn’t realized how exciting it could be to have her kissing him, and he let himself enjoy it, letting her coax his lips apart and deepen the kiss until he couldn’t help himself, and reached up to rest his hand on her waist. She took that as invitation enough to sit on the arm of his chair, which then led naturally to her sliding a little farther down and onto his lap, and a much more favorable position for kissing.
A Wicked Pursuit Page 26