He shoved himself upright with no little effort, dragging a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “It’s not morning yet, surely?” he asked with a touch of desperation as his gaze flicked toward the drawn curtains. If anyone saw him leaving, her reputation would be in shreds once more—all of his good intentions would be as nothing, ephemeral as smoke, and the choices she ought to have had would dissolve into oblivion.
“No,” she said, her voice warm with amusement, a secretive smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not yet three.”
Relief swept over him, and he slid across the bed toward her to drop a kiss on her lips as he swung his legs over the side. “There’s time enough to leave without being seen, then,” he said, padding around the bed in search of his discarded clothing. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if….”
There was nothing. Not his boots, nor his coat or trousers. No shirt, nor waistcoat. Not so much as a single stocking littered the floor. Even his cravat had mysteriously disappeared.
“If?” Mouse prompted, and the swish of her skirts caught his eye. He’d let that fact slip his sleep-fogged mind in his haste to remove himself from the premises.
“Why are you dressed at this hour?” he inquired. “And what the devil has happened to my clothing?”
She pursed her lips together but even that did not quell that devious little smile. “Not to worry,” she said sweetly. “Your clothing will be returned to you.” Satisfaction saturated her voice, brightened her eyes. She wore the same sort of mischievous expression to which he had become accustomed while she had lived in his house, and it sparked a glow of contentment in his chest. This was what he had missed most—Mouse aquiver with glee at the thought of having outsmarted him.
He cleared his throat, affected a neutral expression. “And you are dressed because....”
“It’s very simple.” She spread out her hands as if they offered up her explanation. “I’m abducting you. Your clothes await you in the carriage. I can’t have you sneaking away, and making off with your clothing seemed the most logical method to secure your cooperation.”
“You’re…abducting me,” he repeated doubtfully. “Why?”
“Well, it’s only fair, don’t you think?” She fluttered her lashes in an absurd parody of a simper. “Of course, my intentions are honorable. We’re going to Scotland to be married. I’m afraid a long engagement doesn’t suit me.”
“Why shouldn’t it?” And then a thought crept into his mind. “You’re not…with child?” Surely she would have said something before now if she were. Surely. But her waistline had seemed much the same the night before as it had weeks ago.
“No,” she said, on a flustered laugh. “Although I suppose I could be now. But as I’ve decided not to accept a long engagement, it doesn’t signify.” Composing herself once again, she contrived to don her most imperious expression, rendered more than a little ridiculous by the amusement dancing in her eyes. “Now. The carriage awaits. I’ll thank you to be quick; I’ve had to rouse half my household and I am certain they would like to return to their beds.”
Grey coughed into his fist to disguise a snicker. “And how, exactly, had you planned to force me into it?” he asked. “Have you a weapon on your person?”
“Well, I had hoped you would come along quietly,” she said, the delight evident in her tone belying her words. “But if you are absolutely determined to be pigheaded….” Serena raised her voice and called out pleasantly, “Oh, Davis!”
“Christ!” Grey dived for the bed, snatching the counterpane from it just in time to pull it about himself as Mouse’s giant of a butler came striding into the room. From the frown etched into his face, it was plain he did not approve of Grey’s presence in his lady’s bed chamber. Nor of Grey’s state of dress—or lack thereof. The frown deepened into a glower, and the butler’s thick eyebrows descended so sharply over his eyes that they seemed cast into shadow.
“Shall I toss his lordship in the carriage, my lady?” Davis inquired, though his tone suggested he’d rather toss Grey out on his ass. Preferably straight into the refuse heap, sans clothing.
So just a generalized, wholesale disapproval, Grey supposed.
“Only if his lordship elects not to do so himself,” Mouse said. Clasping her hands together, she canted her head to one side and asked, “Well, Grey?” And she looked just so damned pleased with herself, very nearly giddy. Unpredictable Mouse, just as he loved her best.
The laugh started deep in his chest, a rumble of sound that forced its way out his throat until he could only throw his head back and guffaw. And then he was striding across the scant distance that separated them and anchoring the counterpane with one hand as he grabbed for her with the other, crushing her lips with his and feeling her smile bloom beneath them.
“You’re a madwoman, and I adore you,” he said. “You’ve got until we reach Scotland to convince me.”
Chapter Thirty Eight
Of course they both knew that she had convinced him even before he had climbed into the carriage—though his dignity had taken a beating over having had to hoist himself inside clad only in a velvet counterpane—but even if he had groused over the inconvenience of having to don his clothing in a moving vehicle, his annoyance with that unpleasant debacle had lifted before they had even left London proper.
They had spent until sunrise bickering over what Serena considered to be technicalities, but it had been a good-natured squabble at least, and it was not until the sky had begun to lighten and the jittery exhilaration of having finally won a match against Grey had begun to wane that Serena had at last realized how very little sleep she had gotten. It promised to be a long day of travel, and sleep seemed a pleasant enough way to spend it.
“You could have had a duke at your wedding,” Grey chided as she laid her head on his shoulder. “And it would have been a proper wedding, in a church, with friends and family in attendance. A wedding breakfast—a bridal trip—a damned ring, Mouse—”
“Oh, please,” she sniffed dismissively. “If you must have a wedding breakfast, I will be happy to arrange one upon our return. And I’m certain England does not have a monopoly on rings. There are surely at least a few to be had in Scotland.”
He heaved a longsuffering sigh as she tucked herself against his side, and said, “Here I have been attempting to assist in repairing your reputation, and you are determined to plunge yourself once more into scandal with an elopement.”
“Being scandalous is vastly underrated.” The first peachy strains of dawn began to crest over the horizon, and Serena closed her eyes, muffling a yawn in her palm. “I highly recommend it.”
Grey snatched up the discarded counterpane and tucked it around the both of them as he eased himself into a more comfortable position, bringing her with him. “Your brothers are going to think I coerced you into this,” he grumbled.
“They won’t,” she assured him, with a gentle pat to his chest. “I wrote them a note.”
Grey rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course you did.”
∞∞∞
“We’re making good time,” Mouse said conversationally, as she alighted from the carriage when they reached the coaching inn where they would stop for the night, roughly halfway through their journey by Grey’s estimation. The exterior of the inn gave the impression of a building past its prime, but he supposed it could have been much worse. “Of course,” she added, “there’s no one particularly invested in putting a stop to our elopement, so there is no great need for haste.”
Grey watched as the coachman leapt down from his seat and began to unload a number of trunks. Trunks, plural. “I assume one of those is mine?” he inquired.
“Of course,” she said, patting at her hair, which was, admittedly, less neatly-pinned than it had been when they had left. “You can’t think I would have been so thoughtless as to drag you away to Scotland without a change of clothes. I don’t relish the thought of spending several days in a carriage with a man who reeks of unwashed clothing.” She wrinkled he
r nose in distaste as she laid her hand upon the arm Grey offered to her.
“You have been remarkably thorough,” he admitted, and Mouse preened in undisguised delight. “I assume Simpson was only too glad to offer his assistance in compiling a suitable wardrobe.”
“Well, you have no valet. What else was he to do?” Mouse inquired with a shrug.
“Send a note round to the authorities that his employer had been abducted,” Grey said irritably, and Mouse cast her head back and laughed. “How had you intended handle our rooms at the inn?”
“Oh, I trust you’ll handle that,” she replied swiftly as she ascended the steps alongside him, pausing outside the door.
“Will I?” He peered in the window of the inn, relieved to see that the inside didn’t appear nearly so ramshackle as the outside, though he supposed the light film of dust on the windows might have softened the view somewhat. At least the food would probably be edible, and with the trunks being unloaded, it was likely Mouse had brought her own linens. “I could tell the proprietor that I’m being conveyed against my will to Scotland for nefarious purposes.”
“Hardly nefarious!” Mouse protested, with a playful pout. “You’ll tell them we’re husband and wife,” she insisted. “For if you don’t, we shan’t be sharing a room.”
Devious but effective. Really, she had him there.
∞∞∞
Peace reigned for the evening and most of the following morning, as Grey hadn’t the heart to put up much of an argument while enjoying a leisurely dinner and bath in the privacy of their shared room, but discord struck up once again in the early afternoon, as clouds overtook the sky and a gentle rain began to patter the roof of the carriage.
“Settlements,” Grey declared abruptly, having held his tongue as long as it was possible for him to have done. “Good God, Mouse, settlements.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked sleepily, lifting her head from where it had been pillowed upon his lap.
“You’re a woman who commands a considerable fortune—all of which will belong to me the moment we marry. Did you not spare a single thought for your security?”
“Honestly,” she said on a yawn, “no.”
Grey jogged his leg in consternation, earning him a glare as Mouse was jostled by the movement. “I’ll have you know I put a significant amount of thought and planning into protecting your assets,” he complained. “Only for you to throw it away.”
“It’s your money. It was yours before it was mine,” she said, with a careless wave of her hand.
“But now it is yours, and—for God’s sake, surely that fact was due some consideration. It could have been placed in trust. Your brothers ought to have negotiated on your behalf—”
“Grey,” Mouse said patiently, “you know they’re useless with that sort of thing. You’d have ended up making all the arrangements anyway. So what is the difference?”
“The difference is that now there is nothing to protect you!” He slapped his hand on the solid interior wall of the carriage, and the hard lacquered wood beneath his hand stung his palm.
“Of course there is.” She placed her palm on his chest, over his heart. “There’s you. You always protected me, Grey. Why should I believe you would stop now?” She lifted herself upright and toyed with the folds of his cravat, picking gently at the knot that secured it.
“Because you should not be dependent upon my mercy—mine or anyone’s. That’s what settlements are for, Mouse, to ensure you are always cared for.” Her fingers slid beneath his collar, loosening the cravat from around his neck and pulling it away.
“Hmm,” she said, noncommittally. “I was at your mercy for some time, if you’ll recall, and I found it rather pleasant.” Her lips touched his jaw, sliding up his cheek toward his mouth. “Will you let me have my school?” she asked. “Because I am thinking of using my house for that purpose. With some renovations, I think it could be put to good use. Sarah would make a very capable headmistress.” She plucked free the buttons that secured his coat and let her hands coast up over his chest. “Of course, I will need a suitable space to instruct gentlemen in need of my tutelage as well, since naturally they cannot attend lessons with ladies. And you did promise to help me.”
“Of course you may have your school, and whatever else you’d like. But you should not have to rely upon my promise—” He sucked in a breath as her right hand slipped beneath the waist of his trousers. “You’re not going to distract me from this,” he said gruffly.
But she could. And she did.
∞∞∞
The selection of rings on offer was sparse indeed, and vastly overpriced in Grey’s estimation, but Mouse gazed upon the meager offerings with utter joy, as if she’d never seen a finer array of jewelry.
“You could have had diamonds,” he said to her beneath his breath, because not even the finest of the rings offered any adornment that would not have been outclassed by even the most modest ring that could be had on Bond Street.
But Mouse had her heart set on a simple band with a few tiny garnets set into the shape of a flower, which fortunately had fit her hand near perfectly, and she had brought enough money with her to cover even the exorbitant fee demanded by the jeweler.
Mouse had chosen a simple blue gown for their wedding—a wise enough choice, as they had journeyed several more miles this morning after last night’s stop at the coaching inn closest to the border. In accompaniment to the gown, she wore her mother’s pearls and the unshakable confidence of a woman who knew she had successfully made her case for elopement.
Which was not to say that Grey would not enjoy needling her when at last, ring selected, they arrived at the shop of the village blacksmith. Although it was possible to marry in Scotland simply by declaring themselves before witnesses, it had become something of a tradition among eloping couples to wed over the anvil—a fact which made the ‘anvil priests’ who presided over such ceremonies a tidy income to supplement that which went with their usual trade.
The blacksmith had clearly seen them poring over the selection of rings and had no doubt correctly ascertained their purpose. He scrubbed his dirty hands through his hair as they approached, which effectively slicked back his close-cropped hair in a passable effort to make himself presentable.
“Come to be married?” he inquired, plucking a rag from the pocket of his apron and rubbing his hands vigorously, which served little purpose except to spread about the grime coating his fingers.
“Yes,” Mouse replied promptly, and for a moment she resembled her puppy—who, to Grey’s great relief, had been left in the care of Sarah for the duration of their jaunt to Scotland—brimming over with an exuberant, restless glee.
The blacksmith turned to bellow over his shoulder, “Moira! Got another wedding!”
Shortly thereafter, a stout, pleasant-looking woman came shuffling out of the house adjoining the smithy, two boys in tow. She gave a bright smile to Mouse as they drew nearer. “Don’t you look lovely,” she enthused as she absently smoothed down the unruly hair of her youngest child. “Second couple today, you are. My boys and I will act as witnesses, if you’ve none of your own.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Mouse said. “We’d be honored.” A lock of her hair drifted free of its pins, and Moira hastened to her side to secure it once again.
“Every bride should look her best at her wedding,” Moira said, “even if it’s only an anvil ceremony. Poor dear,” she clucked sympathetically, shooting a mildly reproachful glance at Grey. “Dragged clear across England, no doubt.”
To her credit, Mouse shifted uncomfortably. “Well—”
“She dragged me,” Grey put in, unwilling to suffer the aspersion cast upon his character. “Abducted me in the dead of night!”
The taller of the boys—a rangy lad of perhaps eighteen years—guffawed. “You’re joking!”
“I’m afraid not.” Mouse gave a sheepish smile, but even that was at best a token conciliatory gesture to propriety rather than gen
uine remorse.
The blacksmith chortled to himself. “Can’t say I’ve ever had cause to inquire whether or not the groom was willing.” He fixed Grey with a searching stare. “You are willing?”
Mouse nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, blast it, I’m willing. But, Mouse, you could have had—”
Having endured two full days of Grey’s protestations of what she might have had, Mouse had simply had enough. She stamped her foot and declared forcefully, “This is what I want!”
Sensing a dispute in the offing, the blacksmith interjected, “And you are both free to wed?”
“Yes,” they replied in unison, and fell straight back into bickering.
The blacksmith rolled his eyes, snatched up his hammer, and struck the anvil before him with a mighty clang that served its intended purpose in shredding right through the argument.
“Having declared yourselves before witnesses,” he intoned. “You are now man and wife.” He set his hammer down again and cast a pitying glance at Grey. “Good luck. It appears you’ll need it.”
“That’s it?” Mouse gasped, and her mouth hung open in surprise. “We’re married?”
“It would seem so,” Grey said dryly.
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. “We’re married!” she cried, and cast herself at him, her cheek unerringly finding his shoulder as she flung her arms about his neck in delight.
Of course, it was only natural for a man to embrace his wife—even if she had dragged him the length and breadth of England in the service of achieving that end.
“Oh, but wait—” Mouse drew away, frowning up at him. “What is your surname? It didn’t enter into the ceremony, and—don’t you dare laugh at me! It’s my surname now, too!”
Grey swallowed his laughter and tweaked her nose, earning himself a glare. “I’m certain you’ll have it from me by the time we return to London,” he said, and then paused to consider. “Then again, it would make a rather unique Christmas gift.”
The Scandal of the Season Page 33
