How to Lose a Bride in One Night

by Sophie Jordan

  Owen shrugged. “It never occurred to me.”

  Jamie narrowed his gaze on him. “You’ve taken this woman into your care and you know nothing about her?”

  Owen nodded, a slow smile curving his lips. For a moment he felt like that boy he had once been, needling his older brother and getting beneath his skin. “Yes.”

  “And what do you plan to do with her?”

  Paget tsked. “Jamie, I’m sure Owen knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t answer to us.”

  “Indeed.” Owen nodded once. “Since when am I required to keep you abreast of all my activities?”

  Jamie squared his shoulders. “When you bring her into my home, I think I have a right to know.”

  The smile slipped from his lips. Anger began to simmer inside him. His brother spoke as though Anna were some dangerous criminal with whom he consorted. “I thought you wanted me here. I can go.”

  He turned to leave, but Paget rushed to his side and pulled on his sleeve with her free hand. “Please, Owen, stay. You and your guest. Anyone can see she’s harmless.” She sent a quelling glance to her husband. “We’re so glad you are here. You know Jamie. He’s merely being that overbearing older brother. It’s an old role to shake.”

  Jamie nodded stiffly. “Forgive me. We don’t want you to leave. I just worry about you.” He sighed. “Although I know I have no call. You’ve been a grown man for some time now.”

  Paget dropped her hand from Owen’s sleeve and went back to rocking little Brand. “I must confess we were planning to introduce you to a few ladies new to the area since you last lived here, but I can see that would be awkward now that you are here with your, er . . . companion.”

  His lips twisted wryly. “It’s not like that, Paget.”

  “Oh.” She blinked and nodded as though she understood, even though she could not possibly understand. How could she when he himself did not? “I thought, well, the way you looked at her.” Her cheeks turned pink. “And the way she looked at you.”

  He resisted the urge to ask her to elaborate on how precisely Anna had looked at him. Instead he shook his head decisively. “No. It is not like that at all between us.”

  And yet even as he uttered those words, he could only think about that mind-numbing kiss he had just shared with her. The taste of her, the sounds she made in the back of her throat as he touched her, her hands in his hair. It was etched in his memory, lodged forever in his blood.

  Brand started to whimper, and Paget made soft, shushing sounds. “Gentlemen, excuse me. Owen, I’ll see you at dinner.” Her look was pointed as she added, “With Anna, I presume.”

  He nodded.

  She started to move away, but then paused as though recalling something. “Forgive me for saying, Owen, but you really should find her some decent attire. Her gown doesn’t even fit properly. I hazard to guess that the rest of her wardrobe is no better.”

  He smiled. Trust Paget to concern herself with such matters. He inclined his head. “Very well.”

  Nodding in satisfaction, she left the room. He looked back to find his brother gazing after his wife and son with his heart in his eyes. He couldn’t help chuckling.

  Jamie’s gaze shot back to him. “What?”

  “It’s still a marvel. You in love with Paget. When we were children I didn’t think you could abide her.”

  Jamie smiled. “Yes, well, want to know a little secret?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was always a little bit in love with her.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

  “Sometimes it just doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head, his expression serious. “Logic doesn’t apply. Only what’s in here.” He tapped his chest, directly over his heart.

  Owen stared at him a long moment before snorting. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”

  “I suppose I am now. Paget saw to that. And someday I hope you’re lucky enough for a woman to make a romantic out of you.”

  Owen searched for a retort, something dismissive, but nothing came to mind. No. The only thing that filled his head was the female one floor above. He doubted there would ever be a woman in existence to make a romantic out of him, but Anna certainly filled him with emotion, a blistering desire that made him feel like a green lad again. His hand curled into a fist as he battled the urge to corner her upstairs and continue where they had left off.

  “Well, well, brother,” Jamie murmured, peering at him closely with speculation bright in his eyes. “Perhaps that day is sooner arrived than expected.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Jamie smiled. “I merely look forward to acquainting myself further with your Miss Anna.”

  Owen frowned and moved toward the doors, saying over his shoulder, “She is not my Miss Anna, Owen.”

  “Quite so.”

  He hesitated at the threshold. “She’s temporarily in my care. There is nothing more to our relationship.”

  “And yet you brought her here with you. Why not leave her in Town?”

  Why not indeed? “As I said, she’s in my care. We’re not having an affair.”

  Jamie nodded, his expression mocking. “Of course.”

  With a muttered epithet, he quit the room, refusing to let Jamie’s knowing smirk get beneath his skin. He was not romantically involved with Anna. A few ill-advised kisses did not constitute an affair.

  Not yet.

  Dinner was a tiresome affair. Lady Winningham pelted her with questions which she could not answer. Not without revealing more of herself than she wished. She felt Owen’s gaze on her during these moments, watchful as a hawk, likely waiting for her to slip up as she fielded any one of the very natural questions regarding her history. By the time she retired to her room and dismissed the maid waiting to help her undress, her head throbbed.

  Sinking down before the dressing table, Anna rubbed at her temples and stared at her murky reflection. Dropping her hands, she studied the woman staring back at her, wondering what she was doing here. Was it just Owen’s promise to help her or something more?

  She sighed and shook her head, acknowledging to herself that she was growing increasingly infatuated with Owen. That early kiss had robbed her of every scrap of reason she possessed, leaving her craving more.

  She released the pins one by one from her hair, hoping that might alleviate her aching head. The brown mass tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. Burying her fingers through the strands, she massaged her scalp until feeling rushed back in.

  A solid rap on the door had her swiveling around on the stool. “Come in,” she called, assuming the maid had returned to pester her further. The girl had been appalled at her insistence that she could ready herself for bed.

  Owen entered.

  She straightened her spine where she sat.

  “Oh. Hello,” she murmured, suddenly self-conscious of her loosened hair. She ran a hand over the mass. His gaze followed the journey of her hand.

  He closed the door behind him. “No one saw me enter,” he assured her, clearly remembering her earlier concerns.

  “Oh. Thank you.” She swallowed, her nerves stretched tight at his sudden presence in her chamber. He had discarded his jacket and cravat and wore only his shirt. The fine lawn fabric was parted wide at his throat, giving her a glimpse of his upper chest. The golden skin there, the flesh she knew to be dense and compact, smooth to the touch.

  Be calm. Don’t act nervous simply because he’s within ten feet of you.

  “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  She nodded. That soon? “Very well. I’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll meet you in the foyer after breakfast. Dress warmly. I’ll teach you to shoot before we return to Town.”

  She nodded, her gaze trained on him, drinking in the sight of his face, the deeply set eyes that seemed to see
everything, all of her, in the sweep of a glance.

  He continued, “It’s a useful skill to possess. Especially if you’re going to be—” He stopped.

  She looked at him, eyebrow arched, waiting.

  “Especially when you’re on your own,” he finished.

  She nodded, understanding. And wasn’t that her plan? To find a place for herself. To live freely and independently. No Bloodsworth. No Jack, a man who never wanted her around until he decided he wanted a blue-blooded son-in-law. No. She would be better off alone.

  “Your fire is low.” He stepped deeper into the bedchamber and moved toward the hearth. She watched as he squatted to add more wood.

  Her fingers curled around the edges of her bench, gripping it as though she needed to hold onto something. His shirt pulled taut across his back, the shoulders working as he lifted logs and stirred the wood with a poker.

  He stood, dusting his hands together. “That should keep you warm. It’s a big house and can get drafty. Don’t hesitate to ring for a maid if you should need the fire tended in the night. Do you have enough blankets?”

  She stared, unaccustomed to having anyone care for her comfort to such a degree. To any degree. Especially when there was nothing in it for him.

  She glanced to the bed with its thick coverlet. An additional blanket sat folded at the bottom. “I’ll be fine.”

  With a slight incline of his head, Owen moved to the door.

  She stretched out a hand as though to reach him. “Wait.” The word escaped her without deliberation. And it was madness. This overwhelming urge she felt to keep him near her.

  He turned, and she closed her eyes in a slow blink and dropped her hand. She shouldn’t be toying with him like this. She could never have him. Like it or not, she was a married woman. She wasn’t free to be with him.

  She swallowed, shoving back down whatever it was she would have said. She moistened her lips. “Thank you. You are very kind, Owen.”

  Owen gazed at her for a moment, his eyes gleaming in the glow of the firelight. Then he advanced on her with an easy stride, each step making her heart thud faster in her tightening chest.

  He stopped before her. She flinched but managed to hold still as he stretched a hand toward her. He paused for the barest moment before gathering a heavy handful of her hair in his fist. It was their only contact but it felt vastly intimate. It reminded her of the last time his hands delved into her hair. Only then, his mouth had been on hers. Did he intend to kiss her again? The thought brought heat flooding to her face. Desire pooling low in her belly.

  “Kind, hm? That’s not something I hear often.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “With good reason.”

  She resisted leaning forward, closer to him, closer to the hand caressing her hair. “Perhaps you’re not letting others see the real you.”

  “As you do?” His gaze turned rueful. “Perhaps.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Or you’re just seeing what you want to see.”

  Her gaze drank him in, the hard planes and valleys of his face, the well-shaped lips, the eyes that looked at her with such intensity, as though he was memorizing everything about her.

  She swallowed, wishing she could look away, but was hopelessly drawn to the sight of him. He was achingly beautiful. Like something out of a dream. She supposed that was how she would look back to this time with him. Something beautiful and blurred in her memories. “I don’t believe that.”

  His smile deepened, yet it was mirthless and somewhat indulgent. “Of course you don’t. You’re the type of girl who only sees the best in everyone.”

  She frowned, hoping that wasn’t true. She couldn’t be that trusting. Not again. That had been her mistake with Bloodsworth. She had never seen him for what he was until it was too late. Owen, however, was no Bloodsworth. She wasn’t wrong about him.

  He let her hair slip free from his fingers. His hand moved to her cheek, tracing its curve down to her chin. Warmth spread through her at the contact.

  Her breath hitched, the air seizing in her chest. This time she didn’t stop herself from leaning forward, angling her face up for him. Her entire being ached for him. He had to know. If he even felt a fraction of what she felt, he would touch her, take her, claim her.

  His hand left her face then. She blinked as he stepped back. His fingers curled, clenching into tight fists at his sides. “Good night, Anna.”

  She inhaled a shaky breath and ran a hand through her hair, still feeling him there, his fingers wrapping around the tendrils.

  “Good night, Owen,” she murmured, trying not to appear as though she had desperately wanted him to kiss her again.

  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with nothing but the pop of the fire to fill the silence.

  The following morning, Annalise waited in the foyer for Owen. Her bags had already been stowed in the carriage. She had taken breakfast alone in the dining room. She knew Lord and Lady Winningham were keeping late hours, tending to the baby themselves. Most aristocrats would leave such matters to the staff, but she had spent enough time among members of the ton to know that Lady Winningham was not like other ladies.

  Still, as she ate alone, she had thought that Owen might join her. Perhaps he was limiting his time with her. After he had left her last night, it seemed clear that there would be no more kisses. He would be a gentleman and make no such advances on her again. Or perhaps he simply did not desire her enough to breach impropriety. Lowering as the thought was, it resolved her to stifle this infatuation she felt for him. It would be best. For both of them.

  She folded her hands in front of her and tried not to feel awkward standing alone in the vast foyer space, the groom in the corner watching her silently.

  “Anna. Good morning.” Lady Winningham appeared. “Did you breakfast already?”

  She sketched a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”

  The countess tsked. “I am sorry I wasn’t awake yet to join you. Brand kept us up quite late. He still doesn’t have his days and nights straight. He is sleeping like a log now. Naturally.”

  Annalise smiled, suppressing a small stab of jealously that this woman possessed all she had ever dreamed for herself. A family. A loving husband. A healthy child. All things that could never be hers. Just as quickly as the thought entered her head, she banished it, hating that she should even entertain such graceless sentiments. She should simply be grateful to be alive after the tragedy of her wedding night, not envying this woman her happiness.

  “Nothing to fret over,” Annalise assured her. “We’re leaving this morning.”

  “Yes. Owen said as much. We’re very sad to see you go.” A mischievous light entered her eyes. “You’re waiting for Owen, then? I think I know where he is. Come this way.”

  The countess strode ahead, not giving Annalise a chance to explain that she would gladly wait for him in the foyer. Clearly, she was expected to follow.

  She fell into step behind the lady. They didn’t stop until they reached a partially open door. The countess peered within first, her movements careful, as though she wanted to remain unnoticed. A satisfied smile spread across her lips. Nodding, she looked back at Annalise and motioned for her to peer within.

  Annalise stepped forward, and her heart constricted at the sight. Owen sat in a rocking chair, the tiny Brand in his arms. Morning sunlight spilled through the parted damask drapes. She had never seen him look so peaceful. The hard features of his face were relaxed as he gazed down at the sleeping babe. He rocked him back and forth, humming something faintly. Gone was the awkwardness of yesterday when the child had been forced into his arms. He looked natural cradling that sleeping baby, and sudden longing pinched her chest.

  “He will make a wonderful father someday,” Lady Winningham whispered in her ear.

  Annalise glanced back at the countess, taken aback at the directness in her dark eyes. She nodded mutely.r />
  Of course he would make a good father. She knew that without even seeing him rocking the babe thusly. He had exhibited gentleness before. Beyond rescuing her, he’d cared for her, helped tend her injuries alongside Mirela. What nobleman would do that for a stranger? She knew firsthand there was tenderness in him even as he’d held himself apart from her so often.

  Fast on the heels of this thought came another. You’re more than infatuated with this man. You’re falling in love with him.

  She inhaled a ragged breath. Of all the foolish, stupid things to do. She couldn’t afford to love this man. She wasn’t free to love him. Even if he could care for her in turn, she would be leaving soon to make her own way in the world.

  She shifted, desperate to flee from the sight of him holding the child, to erase the image from her mind. The floor creaked beneath her weight and Owen’s head snapped up at the sound. Instantly, the softness fled from his face, a curtain falling over his eyes, quickly masking anything he might have been thinking.

  She backed away from the door, bumping into the countess. “Pardon me. I’ll wait for him in the foyer.”

  Turning, she fled down the stairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Owen found her waiting for him in the foyer. He tried to suppress his annoyance, but it was too fresh, simmering beneath the surface.

  He had felt exposed when he looked up to find her watching him holding Brand. Humming a Gaelic lullaby he recalled from his youth, rocking Jamie and Paget’s child—a child named after his eldest brother, no less—had been a vulnerable moment. And she had witnessed it.

  His annoyance wasn’t alleviated by the fact that Paget stood just behind Anna, a satisfied sparkle in her eyes that told him she was responsible for bringing Anna to the nursery.

  “Come,” he snapped. “I’ve said my farewells.”

  He strode out the front door, tugging on his gloves and lifting the collar of his coat against the brisk morning.

  “Are we leaving directly?” she asked behind him. “I thought you were teaching me to shoot this morning.”