Patricia Rice (5 page)

“I can,” she replied in delight, although she didn’t mention she happened to be wearing breeches under it. The love of adventure swelled her heart as she read capitulation in Harry’s eyes. No other man she knew of would agree to her scheme. There was hope for him yet.

“Side saddle,” he conceded. “Your mother was to send your wardrobe to my house today. Is there a portmanteau we can tie to a saddle?”

“Of course.” She didn’t mention that it was the one containing her bridal nightclothes and her mother’s candles scented for seduction. There was bound to be something suitable in it that she could wear until the rest of her luggage caught up with them.

“I’ll send a footman over and have my manservant pack a bag and order the groom to saddle up,” Harry said.

He looked so very solemn and concerned, Christina could not resist. Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek, then eluded his arm when he would reach for her. “I must say farewell to my sisters, if you’ll speak to my mother. Harry, you are a gem among men.”

She was almost regretting that she’d asked for a postponement of their wedding night. She was eager to know all that the marriage bed had to hold, and with the old Harry back, she’d have nothing to fear.

But this formidable new Harry frightened her a wee bit. She didn’t want to be thought of as a brood mare. A merry chase was in order.

She just hoped there was enough of the old Harry remaining to appreciate the fun that lay ahead of them.

Running up the stairs to where she’d left her sisters and most of her cousins, she glanced over her shoulder. Harry was bending over to hear something her mother was attempting to tell him in her breathless, rambling manner. His broad shoulders nearly hid Hermione from view. He radiated patience, but tension held him stiff.

Her father came to stand beside her new husband, and she could see they were very much alike: both tall and strong and of formidable countenance when they spoke on serious subjects.

She didn’t know what they were talking about and didn’t want to know. Turning, she raced up the stairs, hoping Leila and Lucinda were still there. She had last-minute instructions to give as well.

“Let us arrive incognito,” Christina suggested as she and Harry approached the lights of the inn ahead. They had left in early afternoon, but it was spring, and dusk was upon them.

Harry’s aura had grown darker the farther they rode. Despite her jests and excitement, a morose pall had turned him into a wooden soldier.

“We can tell the innkeeper we are brother and sister on our way to Dover and thence to France.” She offered the story she’d concocted during his silences to remind him that this was not a normal wedding night.

“We are nearly on the verge of war with France over the colonies.” With an irritated wave of his hand, Harry dismissed her playacting. “Let’s at least find some use for my title and claim the best rooms available. You must be exhausted.”

“Have you ever seen me exhausted? And what need have I of title and recognition? I’ve had that all my life. What I crave is freedom.” With that, she kicked her horse into one last burst of speed, striking out ahead of him.

Burdened by their baggage, Harry could not follow as swiftly, but he was hot on her heels by the time she reached the stable yard and had leaped down without aid of groom. She didn’t think she’d exposed a great deal of stocking-clad leg or revealed her unorthodox undergarments, but Harry looked like a black thundercloud by the time he reached her.

She didn’t give him time for a scold. She’d had quite enough of that from her family. She meant to set out on her new life as she meant to live it—as her own woman. She smiled triumphantly at Harry and strode off for the inn while he gave instructions to the groom.

“Two rooms, please,” she called to the innkeeper who hurried forward upon her arrival. “We’ll have a fire and a bath. And if you’d have supper carried up, that would be excellent.” She adored giving her own orders instead of waiting for someone else to speak for her. She waited proudly for the innkeeper to send servants scurrying.

Instead, he stared at her, nervously looking over her shoulder as if waiting for someone else’s arrival. Must she wave coins at him to catch his attention?

“You do have rooms, don’t you?” she inquired, tapping her foot.

“Yes, of course. Be ye traveling with your maid?” Short and thin, he looked anxious as he turned his attention to her.

“My brother will be in shortly. He’s seeing to the horses. It’s been a long journey. I’d like to be shown a room now.” Since the odd man didn’t move, Christina lifted her skirt and started for the stairway on her own.

Her statement relieved his anxiety, but now the innkeeper adopted a mulish expression. “I’ll be waiting for the master, miss. This here’s a gentleman’s establishment.”

“It’s an inn, isn’t it?” Christina glared at him. “You have rooms? I won’t insist on a fire and bath if that is your difficulty.”

Ducking to avoid the low lintel, Harry entered the inn carrying her portmanteau. He glanced from innkeeper to Christina and raised inquiring eyebrows. “No rooms?” he guessed.

The innkeeper looked enormously relieved. “We have a gentleman’s common room, good sir, but my wife is visiting her mother this week. The lady says she has no maid, and I have no one to assist her, and only the one private room available. I did not wish to insult your sister with the lack of accommodation—”

“She’s not my sister. She’s my wife. Send our things up to the room along with a bath and supper, if you would. We’ll make do without a maid.” Carrying her bag, Harry pushed past the innkeeper and on toward the stairs as if he owned the place.

Hands on hips, Christina watched in astonishment as the recalcitrant landlord hastened to do her husband’s bidding, leaving her standing alone.

Well, bother it
. Catching up her skirts, she ran after them. Harry had some nerve accepting the one room for both of them. How was she to learn to do things on her own if he always came barging along, taking matters into his own hands?

She supposed that was one of those things they’d have to work out together. Her sisters had told her all about being married to demanding men. Learning to live together no doubt required a certain education and training of both parties.

“I’ll have your bath up directly, my lady,” the innkeeper promised, brushing past her on the narrow stairs.

“My lady.” Well, so much for incognito, although Harry must not have mentioned his true title or she’d be “Your Grace’d” to death. Dukes were a rare breed, and she’d wager the innkeeper had never laid eyes on one. He’d no doubt have failure of the heart did he know he must provide services for a duke. It would be akin to entertaining a king. Everyone from the kitchen help to the guests would be peering around doors for a glimpse of them.

Entering the bedchamber, she watched Harry fling his greatcoat over the bed, start to peel off his dress coat, then think better of it.

“We’re not sharing this bed.” She threw her gloves down to join his greatcoat, then shed her cloak and stood beside the fire to warm her toes. “You promised.”

“I promised to give you two weeks to make me love you. We could accomplish it much faster in bed. Am I unpleasant to look on?” Apparently deciding dishabille wouldn’t shock her, he threw his dress coat to the bed to join the other outer garments. “Do you fear the marriage bed? I find it hard to believe you fear anything.”

“I don’t.” Except maybe her reaction to his decidedly masculine presence in vest and shirtsleeves. Harry was quite a diverting sight to see. Dropping into a chair, Christina stuck her booted feet closer to the fire. “But I’m not the kind of woman who flings herself upon any man who beckons. I’m my own woman. And you’ve given me no reason to be anything else.”

“You’re
my
woman.” Harry stretched his chin up to unfasten his jabot.

The open linen revealed a fascinatingly soft curl of brown hair, and Christina had to turn away from the intimate sight. She wasn’t the missish sort, but she wasn’t ready to be seduced either, even if Harry’s unperturbed attitude sadly rattled her. “That’s ridiculous and old-fashioned. You can’t own another person. That is slavery.”

“Perfectly legal,” Harry said with a shrug, doffing his vest next, leaving only his linen to hide his naked chest. He took the chair across from her and tugged at his riding boots. “I own you, fair and square. I can lock you in a tower and feed you swill and the law can’t touch me.”

The way he said that with such indifference sent cold shivers down her spine. Had she been unable to read his aura, she might be planning her escape now. But she’d spent nearly a lifetime studying Harry’s aura. He was tired and angry and looking for trouble. She just happened to be the target at hand. Well, perhaps she’d also given him some reason.

“If I believed for a minute that you were capable of such a thing, you would never see me again.” She bent over and began removing her ankle boots. The adventure of undressing in the same room as a gentleman added spice to the evening.

Before she even saw him rise, Harry had her by the waist and was lifting her from the chair with unanticipated strength. She squealed in surprise, then gave an unladylike yelp when he dropped her amid the garments littering the bed. Before she could scurry out of his way, he fell down beside her, pinning her in place with an arm across her breasts and a leg across her hips.

“Don’t press me, Christina. I’m capable of almost anything right now. I do not know myself, and you certainly cannot know me. I want you in my bed. I have every right to demand it. I’m having some difficulty grasping why I shouldn’t.”

She wanted to give a snappy answer, but she could scarcely breathe. She stared into the clouded brown of his eyes, saw the pain there, and had no moment to react before he leaned over and placed his mouth on hers.

She closed her eyes to absorb the heady sensation of his kiss. The pressure of Harry’s heavy weight and closeness was far more intimate than the kiss they’d shared at the altar. She could feel the strength he used to keep from crushing her and knew it would be akin to breaking iron bars to move him.

His lips pressured hers to part, and she really couldn’t resist. His breath intermingled with hers, tasting of the honeyed hard candy he’d offered her earlier. His tongue… She really shouldn’t allow his tongue… She squirmed at the intimacies he stole, but she opened her mouth wider to let him plunder. His hand clasped her arm tighter, and his tongue…

Oh, it was wonderful and tingly, and she felt the power of it all the way to parts best left unmentioned. And then he began nibbling her lips, pressing sweet kisses where he nibbled, and she didn’t know what he would do next—

A knock and an embarrassed cough intruded.

Harry kissed her—hard—then pushed away. Too embarrassed to look him in the face, Christina hastily sat up and brushed the hair from her eyes. A young lad carrying their supper dishes hesitated in the doorway.

“Cook said as you would want your supper first while he heats the bath water,” the boy said hastily, dropping the tray on the table. “I’ll be back to pick this up.”

He all but ran from the room, slamming the door after him. Behind her, Harry chortled.

“You’ve given him fancies now,” he said.

He reached for her again, but Christina leaped up from the bed to examine their supper dishes. She could feel the flush in her cheeks, and her breasts still tingled with the need to be touched. Her lips felt swollen and not her own. That wouldn’t do at all. She desperately wanted what her sisters had in marriage, but Harry didn’t
love
her.

“You’re the one who is shameless enough to do that in the broad light of day,” she said. Satisfied that the food looked tasty, she set the plates out on the table, arranged her skirts, and took a seat. “If you thought to frighten me, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t seek to frighten you.” Pouring ale into the tankard provided, Harry grabbed a drumstick off the plate and paced up and down the limited floor space. “A man has needs and a woman is made to satisfy them. That’s what marriage is about.”

With firelight flickering off the gold strands of his hair, his linen shirt billowing above his tight breeches, Harry looked all male animal with little of the civilized duke about him. She’d never quite seen him in that light before, and if she glanced to where his shirt met his breeches…

Christina concentrated on her food, but the hunger she felt had little to do with the plump pigeon or the beef pie. “Marriage is about money and land and titles and lots of other things when it ought to be about
love
.”

Harry swigged from his tankard. She was very aware of the heat of him hovering near her shoulder. She was learning marriage was also about intimacy. There didn’t seem to be a modest or retiring bone in Harry’s body—his amazingly
athletic
body.

“Love is a foolish romanticism dreamed of by women,” he replied. “Men may admire a woman’s looks or respect her intelligence or appreciate her talents, but to expect more is to whistle down the wind.”

“I had a grandmother who was said to do that. They say she created a cyclone once.” Christina poked at the early spring peas. With Malcolms, everything was possible, so Harry’s protests didn’t sway her much.

He finally sat down across from her to dig into his pie. Christina noted that unlike many men, he used his polite manners in private as well as public, but he ate like a starving man. An astonishing quantity of food disappeared in a short time. Her own meal went neglected as she watched him in fascination.

He caught her looking, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and leaned back in his chair. “I won’t pounce on you. I’ll give you the time I promised if you need it. I just don’t want you to think there’s anything lacking in either of us if the results aren’t the sort you fancy.”

“I used to see affection when you looked at me,” she said quietly.

In Harry’s experience, Christina was many things, but quiet wasn’t one of them. He lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“Now, all I see is confusion and anger and maybe a touch of despair. Is marrying me so very dreadful?”

Stunned by her insight, Harry shook his head. “Marrying you is…” He didn’t know how to express the perplexity of being torn two ways. “…is what I need right now. I dislike disrupting your life this way, but we both have duties and we might as well be about them.”

She made a moue of distaste and poked at her food some more. Even disheveled from their long ride, she couldn’t be anything less than glorious in his eyes—perhaps because he saw the joy and courage in her and craved it for himself.

“I want love, like my sisters have, not duty.” She stabbed a bit of meat with her fork and shredded it with her knife. “Will you tell me what is bothering you?”

Not likely. He wasn’t in the habit of confiding doubts, much less his deepest nightmares. He waved his fork dismissively. “The usual things. The loss of my family. I never expected to inherit. I know nothing of estate duties. I hate being unprepared.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’m not prepared either, so we’ll learn together. Is your house very large?”

Harry tried not to snort ale out his nose at this ingenuous question. “You’ll see on the morrow. You needn’t worry about the staff. My father and brother lived bachelor lives and the staff serves well without instruction.”

They would both do better if he could find the source of the estate’s financial problems and escape back to London and the lives they knew, but he didn’t know how quickly that could be accomplished.

Watching his bride of a few hours pick at her food, remembering the eagerness of her response to his kiss, his spirits lifted. Her dowry had forced Carthage to slink back into his hole for another six months. Perhaps that’s all it would take once Harry halted the flow of cash into the Abomination. Then he could spend the next few years producing heirs.

He had the feeling Christina would be an imaginative lover.

Auras, indeed! He smiled fondly and shoved back from the table. He’d best leave her to bathe alone or he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight.

“Your bath should be ready shortly,” he said. “I’ll wait downstairs until you’re in bed.”

She tilted her head to study him in that manner he recognized.