Her husband!
Good heavens.
“I’m four and thirty,” he said, sounding a little defensive.
“I’m three and twenty,” she replied, amused that he might worry about his age.
She’d never in her life seen such a virile specimen of masculinity. That she would soon be this man’s wife sent heat rushing beneath her skin. He let out a breath when she told him her age, and she knew it relieved him to discover that she wasn’t quite as young as she looked.
“The place won’t be what ye’re used to,” he said, the doubt creeping back into his eyes. “And I’m not a sociable fellow myself. I live quietly and—”
Grace took the hand that held hers. Though her heart was beating frantically in her chest, she dared to hold it to her cheek and smile at him. “I am honoured by your proposal, Mr Hardy, and to have a home of my own and a man who will be kind to me, that is all I have ever dreamt of.”
He was staring at her, his eyes dark, a slight flush of colour at his cheeks.
“I’d think this was just a dream,” he said, with a huff of laughter, “except I’ve not the imagination to conjure a woman as beautiful as you.”
Pleasure unfurled within her at his words, and then all her fragile hopes shattered as a heavy fist pounded at the door.
Chapter 3
“Wherein a monster tracks his prey.”
Ned jolted out of the trance in which he’d been. The way she’d held his rough hand to her silken cheek was enough to make heat surge beneath his skin and his brain turn to mush… but the violence of the hammering at his door told him she’d been right to be afraid.
He looked at her. Her eyes were wide with terror, her skin as white as the landscape beyond the door, and she trembled before him. Fury rose in his chest and a protective instinct so overwhelming he wanted to murder whoever had frightened her so and caused her such pain. Yet he couldn’t do anything of the sort. He must do nothing to raise suspicion. Not yet. Not until they were wed.
He put a finger to his lips, and she nodded. Ned moved fast, collecting her discarded clothes and tugging at her hand. He led her up the stairs, where he stuffed her clothes into the first drawer that came to hand and lifted the lid of the huge chest that stood at the end of his bed.
To her credit, she understood at once and stepped into it, curling herself into a ball. It broke his heart to make her suffer the indignity, but he promised himself—once she was his wife and no one could take her away from him—he’d make her brother pay. He hesitated for the barest moment to touch a finger to her cheek.
“Trust me,” he said, before closing the lid.
The hammering had grown louder, and Ned hurried back downstairs to where Rufus was snarling, barking, and hurling himself at the door.
“Rufus,” he commanded, snapping his fingers as Rufus reluctantly moved behind him, still growling and baring his teeth.
Ned slid back the bolt and opened the door to find two men on the step. One was clearly her brother. The gold hair and fine bone structure were unmistakable, yet on this man there was little to admire. Perhaps some women might find him handsome, but there was a cruel glint to his eyes, and his lips were thin and inclined to turn down. He held a crop in his hand. A few steps behind him stood another man, perhaps a coachman. He bore a fresh red stripe across his face that looked damned painful.
“What’s all this?” Ned said, having no difficulty in looking belligerent, like a man disturbed in the middle of the night. “What the devil do you mean by hammering on my door at this hour?”
“Forgive me, sir,” said Mr Honeyfield, in a smooth, cultured accent. “It is a rather delicate matter. We believe my sister is lost out here, somewhere on your land, and I’m afraid that she may have come to harm.”
“Your sister?” Ned repeated, staring at him in disgust. “Out here? What kind of man allows his sister to get lost in the countryside on such a night?”
Mr Honeyfield gave a heavy sigh. “I have been asking myself the same question,” he said with a mournful shake of his head. “I foolishly entrusted her safety to my coachman here. She was being transported to an asylum, you see. I’m afraid she’s not of sound mind, a fact that is borne out by the fact she threw herself from a moving carriage. We did not discover her missing until the carriage arrived at its destination and my sister was not in it.”
He sent a look of quiet fury to the coachman, who shrank back another pace.
“Did she not have a maid with her?” Ned asked, not believing a bloody word of it. There was nothing that spoke of an unsound mind in the woman he’d seen, only terror. “Why was she alone, if ye were concerned for her mental state?”
“She can be violent,” Mr Honeyfield said, putting out his hands in a regretful gesture. “Sadly, she attacked her maid as they were about to leave, and the girl refused to come with her, fearing for her life.”
“I see,” Ned replied, believing he saw very well indeed, and the sooner Miss Honeyfield was out of this man’s power the better it would be. “Well, I’m sorry for your trouble, sir, but I’ve seen no one, though I’ll show ye around the barns if ye wish it. I’d not want some poor troubled girl freezing to death on my property.”
“I would, thank you, Mr…?”
“Hardy,” Ned replied, reaching for his coat and shrugging into it.
“If I might observe it, Mr Hardy, you are up late on such a night yourself?”
Ned saw a glint of suspicion in his eyes and shrugged. “It’s been a long day, and I drank more than I ought at dinner. I fell asleep by the fire and woke up hungry as a bear. I was just fixing myself something to eat before bed.”
It was a reasonable enough statement. Ned had done just that countless times since Sarah died, but he could still feel doubt emanating from the man beside him. Ned took him and his henchman about the barns and outbuildings, taking his time and hoping they’d be frozen to the bone and eager for their beds the longer he kept them outside.
“Satisfied?” he asked, opening the door on the henhouse where the birds sent baleful glances at them, dozens of eyes shining like tiny ebony beads among the downy feathers, fluffed up like thistledown against the frigid night air.
Mr Honeyfield gave a heavy sigh and spread his hands in a gesture of defeat as Ned closed the door again. “I must keep looking. She’s my sister after all, the poor disturbed creature. Might I ask you for one last favour before we leave you in peace, Mr Hardy? For it’s a cruel night for man and beast.”
“Ye can ask,” Ned replied uneasily.
“A tot of something to warm us and a moment by your fire before we carry on our search, if you would be so good?”
His eyes were not as blue as his sister’s, but a paler, colder version. They settled on Ned now, assessing and clearly suspicious.
“Certainly,” Ned replied, keeping his voice easy. “I’ve a bottle of something that’ll do the trick.”
He led the way back to the house, forcing himself to appear unconcerned and praying that Miss Honeyfield had not moved from her hiding place.
“A nice little place you have here,” Mr Honeyfield said, looking about as he walked into the kitchen, tramping dirty footprints across the clean floor.
Ned’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes raked about for any signs Miss Honeyfield had been there. “It suits me,” he said, aware he was being patronised. He searched out the bottle of brandy and poured three stingy measures. The sooner these men were gone the better he’d like it. “To your sister finding safety,” he said, raising his glass to the men.
“Indeed,” Mr Honeyfield said with a tight smile.
Ned watched him as he downed his drink, and the man’s eyes searched the room. He wasn’t certain his sister had been here, but he wasn’t certain she hadn’t, either.
“Well, thank you for your hospitality, Mr Hardy,” he said, placing the glass down and holding out his hand to Ned.
Ned forced himself to take it, to shake the hand that had left those ugly bruises
on Miss Honeyfield’s delicate skin. If this man ever came back once he’d made her his wife, he’d show the fellow what it was like to be at the receiving end of a beating he wouldn’t forget.
He was surprised at the rage he felt, at the fury seething beneath his skin. His temper had never troubled him. Even as a young man he’d never been hot-headed. As the biggest fellow for miles around, he’d been a magnet for trouble, for all those fools who wanted to tell the world they’d taken on Ned Hardy and felled him like an oak… except he’d rarely let them rouse him to anger. Violence solved nothing, and he knew the power of his own body, knew he could do too much damage if he indulged in temper and pride.
He’d been called a coward a time or two as a young man, until he’d been forced to stand and fight. They’d chosen the biggest, most evil fellow they could find for the job, ex-army he’d been, and a deal older than Ned. The man had been scarred, belligerent, and full of himself. Ned had knocked him out with a single blow and walked away. The poor bastard had been out cold for hours. No one had troubled him after that.
Ned saw Mr Honeyfield and his coachman out and then walked with them across the yard to the gate. He wanted to be sure they’d gone.
“Good evening to you, Mr Hardy,” Mr Honeyfield said, raising a hand as he disappeared into the darkness.
“Good riddance to ye,” Ned murmured under his breath, and strode back to the house.
Once inside, Ned bolted the door.
“Guard,” he said to Rufus, who immediately sat, staring at the door as if it might fly open at any moment to reveal the hounds of hell.
Satisfied that the door was secure, Ned took the stairs two at a time and hurried to the bedroom. There was a little shriek as he opened the chest.
“It’s all right, Miss Honeyfield,” he said, feeling his chest constrict at the fear in her eyes. “Your brother is gone.”
She sat up, staring at him in disbelief. “G-Gone?”
Ned reached down a hand and helped her to her feet. The desire to seek retribution only grew as she clung to his hand, looking at him as if he was her saviour.
“He’s really gone?” she said again, her voice faint.
“He is,” he said, smiling.
“Oh!”
She threw her arms about his neck, and all the breath left Ned’s chest in a rush. Even through the shapeless garments that swamped her lovely form, he was aware of the soft press of her breasts against him, of the warmth of her, and of the subtle scent of roses. Heat rose within him, his entire body flaming to life in an instant, in a way he’d forgotten was even possible. His arms went about her without him even thinking about it, his hands at her tiny waist as he marvelled at how delicate she was.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Ned laughed a little at that. “Ye agreed to marry me, Miss Honeyfield. I reckon that’s thanks enough.”
She drew back then, her cheeks blazing, and Ned regretted having said anything that made her let go of him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at her toes and looking mortified. “I… I ought not have… I was just so relieved.”
He frowned at her, surprised. “Are ye apologising for hugging me?” he said, unable to stop the way his mouth curved at the idea. “For, if so, I wish ye would not. I liked it fine.”
“Oh,” she said, letting out a little breath, and daring to glance up at him again.
She smiled then, a little shyly, and Ned wondered if he’d ever get used to the sight. It was like being hit in the head with a heavy, blunt object. He felt dazed by it, too stupid to think of anything but when she might let him kiss her. Dumb ox, he cursed himself. He’d just rescued her from her bloody brother; the last thing she’d want was him acting the fool.
She was marrying him because she had no choice, not because she wanted to. He’d do well to remember that fact. Yes, she was grateful for his help, but he’d not force his attentions on a woman who only suffered him out of gratitude. That would be worse than Sarah doing her duty.
No, thank you.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked.
Ned nodded. “Reckon he’s suspicious. He’ll have someone watch the house. We can’t risk leaving for a while. I must carry on as usual, see what happens. If all’s quiet next Friday, we’ll go into town and be married at once. I’ll buy a common licence to have ready, so there’ll be no banns to read.”
“Friday?” she said in dismay, her face falling. “That’s a whole week away.”
Ned wished it was because she was eager to marry him, but he wasn’t a bloody fool, despite the desire to act like one in her presence. He felt like a boy, eager to please. He wanted to buy her presents and pick flowers for her… in the middle of bloody November. At this rate he’d be writing poetry by Wednesday.
Hell’s bells, what was wrong with him?
“Aye, but we’d best be cautious. I can keep ye safe here, with Rufus to guard when I’m out on the farm. If we’re set upon out in the open, though, and he brings men….”
He shrugged and then cursed himself as any trace of colour left her face, leaving her skin as white as moonlight.
“Ah, don’t fret,” he said, wishing he’d held his tongue. “You’re safe. I won’t let him have ye, my word on it, and once we’re married, you’ll be mine and no man can touch ye but me.”
Her eyes widened, and he wished he’d just kept his bloody mouth shut and said her brother was gone for good.
“Not that I will!” he said in a rush. “I… I know that’s not why… I mean, I know it’s a marriage of… of convenience, like, so… so if you don’t want me….”
To his horror, he felt heat creep up the back of his neck and stain his cheeks.
“I’ll not touch ye,” he said, forcing the words out though he wanted to bite out his tongue the minute he’d said them. What the bloody hell had he just said? She looked so frightened and vulnerable, and he wanted her to trust him even more than he wanted her in his bed. Far more. The trouble was that he wanted to bed her very badly indeed and, good God, he was an idiot.
“Oh,” she said, blinking at him. “I see.”
“So ye need not be… worried or… alarmed.”
“No,” she said.
“You’re safe.”
“Yes. Safe,” she repeated.
“No one will bother ye. I won’t… bother ye.”
Oh God, Ned, stop talking you blithering idiot.
“I see.” She nodded, not looking at him. “I see. Thank you.” She frowned a little as she said that, as if she was unsure whether she ought to thank him.
“Right.” Ned rubbed the back of his neck, which felt as if it was burning. “Well, this is your bedroom now, so… it’s late. You’d best… get some rest.”
She nodded.
“There’re nightgowns and the like in the chest there,” he said, forcing himself not to think about her sliding between the sheets of his bed, and feeling a surge of possessiveness at the idea.
Get a grip, man.
“Thank you.”
“Good night, then,” he said, and almost ran for the door before he made a bigger mess than he already had.
“Wait!”
He halted as she spoke, her voice breathless and urgent. Ned turned to see her wringing her hands together.
“Where… where will you sleep?”
“The chair by the fire.”
“Oh, but—” she said, looking appalled.
“Don’t fret, lass. Sarah had me sleep there often enough. I’m used to it.”
Resolutely, Ned stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind him.
Grace stared at the door, perplexed. She didn’t understand this man. Not that she knew much about men. She’d had little experience of them outside of her father, her brother and, more recently, Mr Carrington.
Her brother had spent much of the past few days enjoying himself with tormenting her. He’d decided he’d best fill her in on the facts of li
fe, and exactly what she ought to expect from her wedding night with Mr Carrington. He’d been vulgar, laughing at her embarrassment and shame. The things he’d said had appalled her when she’d thought of Mr Carrington touching her in such a way.
Yet she wasn’t quite as innocent as her brother believed.
During the summer she’d escaped the house, literally. She was forbidden to wander, certainly not alone, but her father had taken to his bed, ill, and her brother wasn’t at home. She’d walked for miles but still hadn’t been ready to relinquish her freedom and return to the house, so she’d climbed into the hayloft above the stables. It smelled sweet and wholesome and she’d fallen asleep in the warm, dim space.
It had been late when she’d awoken, to strange sounds below her. One of the grooms had a girl with him. Grace had been trapped, unable to escape. To her shame, she’d watched, knowing she ought not, but too fascinated to look away as the young man had coaxed the girl out of her clothes, not that she’d appeared unwilling. She’d watched as he touched and kissed and fondled the woman, so intimately it made Grace flush to even think of it. Yet the young woman had not been disgusted, shocked, or unhappy with her lover’s attentions.
Far from it.
The soft sounds of her pleasure had rung in Grace’s ears for days, making her wonder what it might be liked to be touched so by a man, with such care and tenderness. What might it be like if Mr Hardy touched her so?
Heat flared in the pit of her belly. She remembered the moment she’d flung her arms about him, wondering now how she’d dared. He’d been so big and heavy and solid. When he’d put his hands to her waist, she’d wanted to press herself against him, to burrow into that strength and warmth, and the promise of safety. He smelled so good, too, like fresh air, leather, and straw, and something earthy, smoky and indefinably masculine that made her quiver inside.
But he would not touch her. He’d promised not to, but why? Was it her? Was there something wrong with her? Yet, he’d told her she was beautiful. Surely if he found her beautiful, he would desire her, would want to touch her in such a way?
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